THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


WOOD  CLIFF. 


BY 

HARRIET   B.  McKEEVER, 

AUTHOR  OP  "EDITH'S  MINISTBT,"  "scNsmNE,"  "PLOTWCSD  KOBB,"ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

LINDSAY    &    BLAKIST&N. 

1865. 


Kntered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 
LINDSAY  A  BLAKISTON, 

in  tic  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 

BHRXOTTPZD  BT  J.  FAOAK  ft  BON.  PRINTED  BT  SHERMAN  ft  00. 


RS 


CONTENTS. 


PAQ« 
CHAPTER  I.— The  Sea-Shore 13 

II. — A  Ride  on  Horseback 21 

III.— Maddy's  Triumph 29 

IV.— Too  Proud  to  Bend 38 

V.— Youthful  Visions  50 

VI.— A  Scotch  Matron 59 

VII.— The  Cottage  and  the  Hall 75 

VIII.— Boston  Relatives  91 

IX. — Home  Again 107 

X. — Sunshine  at  the  Hall,  Shadows  at  the  Cottage 115 

XI. — A  Mother's  Life  Sorrow  137 

XII. — Stars  in  the  Night  Season 150 

XIII. — Driftwood 167 

XIV. — Excelsior 177 

XV.— Strife 190 

XVI.— Rugged  Hills  for  Weary  Feet  204 

XVII. — Mirage,  or  Madeline  after  a  Triumph 215 

XVIII.— The  Early  Dawn 227 

XIX.— "Auld  Lang  Syne" 239 

XX.— Out  in  the  Light 253 

1*  (y) 


Vl  CONTENTS. 

PAOI 
CHAP.  XXL— Searching  for  Scottish  Friends  268 

XXII.— Mist  on  the  Mountain  279 

XXIII.— Graham  Hall 294 

XXIV. — Wings  Clipped  that  had  Commenced  to  Soar 312 

XXV. — Parting  from  English  Friends 332 

XXVI. — The  First  Link  Lost  and  Found 347 

XXVII.— Hearts' Ease 368 

XX VIII. —Seaweed 383 

XXIX.— Beatitudes 402 

XXX. — Fellow  Heirs  of  the  Grace  of  Life 427 

XXXI.— Reunion 448 


WOODCLIFF. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    SB  A-S  H  0  RE. 

IT  is  a  summer  afternoon  —  the  light  fleecy  clouds  float 
lazily  over  the  glowing  landscape  —  the  sun  is  shining 
brightly  over  the  deep  blue  waves,  gilding  their  crested 
foam  with  sparkling  diamonds,  and  lighting  up  the  golden 
hair  of  a  little  girl,  who  sits  upon  the  beach,  gazing  out 
upon  the  wide-spread  ocean.  It  is  a  graceful  form  which 
sits  there,  tapping  her  dainty  little  foot,  and  laying  her 
hand  caressingly,  every  now  and  then,  upon  the  head  of 
her  favorite  old  dog,  Hector. 

Her  flat  is  thrown  down  by  her  side,  and  leaves  unco 
vered  a  head  of  remarkable  beauty  :  the  deep  blue  eyes, 
fringed  with  their  dark  lashes,  express  a  world  of  feeling ; 
the  delicately  arched  nostril  and  curved  mouth  betoken 
pride,  but  a  troop  of  dimples  is  playing  around  that  ex 
pressive  feature,  lighting  up  the  whole  face  with  arch  hu 
mor  ;  the  transparent  complexion,  through  which  glows,  in 
rosy  tints,  the  feelings  of  her  sensitive  nature,  lends  its 
finishing  touch  of  enchanting  loveliness  to  the  sweet  pic 
ture  ;  and,  as  the  sea-breeze  lifts  the  flowing  ringlets  which 
lie  in  such  rich  profusion  around  her  shoulders,  seldom 
could  be  seen  such  a  revelation  of  bright  and  happy  child 
hood  as  the  young  being  who  sits  there,  singing  one  of  her 
favorite  songs. 

2  (13) 


14  WOODCLIFF. 

A  passer-by,  who  knows  something  of  the  thorny  paths 
of  life's  pilgrimage,  would  scarce  know  which  to  do,  to 
sigh  or  smile  at  the  glimpse  of  such  a  beaming  face ;  but 
the  ever-changing  expression  and  flitting  color  would  be 
most  likely  to  cause  a  sigh,  #s  one  might  anticipate  the 
discipline  which  such  a  spirit  must  taste  in  a  rough  and 
stormy  world. 

But  we  will  not  anticipate  sorrows,  sweet  child  ! 

Bright  days  of  happy  childhood  are  before  thee ! 

She  certainly  dreams  of  nothing  yet  but  joy,  and  hope, 
and  love. 

"  You  're  a  good  dog,  Hector — don't  we  love  each  other, 
old  fellow?"  and  Madeline  stooped  down  to  rub  her  cheek 
against  her  pet's  shaggy  head. 

Looking  up  in  her  face  as  though  he  understood  all  she 
said,  he  seemed  proud  of  his  little  friend's  caresses,  and 
making  a  kind  of  pleasant  growl,  he  put  up  his  shaggy  paw, 
as  was  his  custom,  when  he  wanted  to  be  especially  petted. 
Not  far  from  where  she  sits,  may  be  seen  a  group  of  children 
playing  with  their  wheelbarrows. 

A  little  girl  of  six,  and  two  oMer  boys  are  busily  en 
gaged  in  filling  their  barrows  with  shining  white  pebbles, 
and  while  pursuing  their  innocent  play,  they  prattle  mer 
rily  together  about  the  riches  which  they  supposed  them 
selves  to  be  gathering. 

But  little  difference  is  there  between  these  children  and 
men  of  larger  growth — for  these  are  gathering  pebbles,  and 
men  are  gathering  dust. 

"  Look  here  !  Philip,"  said  the  little  girl,  "  I  am  sure  that 
this  is  a  real  diamond ;  don't  you  remember  when  John 
Stanley  came  from  Cape  May,  what  a  heap  of  diamonds  he 
brought  with  him,  and  sold  them  for  ever  so  much  money  ?" 

"  Yes,  sis,  but  then  you  know  that  he  said  you  might 
gather  a  great  many  pebbles,  before  you  get  one  diamond?" 

"  But  I'm  sure,  Philip,  that  I  have  found  a  great  many ; 
so  clear  and  so  big ;  I'm  so  glad,  because  I'll  give  'em  all 


THE    SEA-SHORE.  15 

to  mother,  and  we  shall  be  so  rich ;  she  won't  have  to  work 
so  hard  any  longer ;  I  could  work  here  all  day  if  I  could 
only  see  dear  mother  smile  again." 

"  Well,  you're  a  good  little  girl,  sis,  and  I  hope  that  we 
shall  find  that  you  are  right,"  and  as  they  continued  their 
innocent  employment,  they  sang  cheerily,  and  little  Susan, 
in  her  delight,  would  frequently  stop  to  clap  her  hands,  and 
dance  with  Joy.  Just  then,  a  couple  of  boys  came  up,  who 
had  been  watching  the  children  for  some  time. 

They  were  clad  in  the  height  of  boyish  fashion,  and  with 
a  conceited  air,  approached  our  little  speculators,  tapping 
their  pantaloons  with  their  canes,  and  with  a  supercilious 
manner,  accosted  them. 

"  What  are  you  about  there,  you  little  fools  ?"  said  Harry 
Castleton.  "  Do  you  call  these  stones  that  you  have  been 
wheeling  up  diamonds  ?  they're  nothing  but  common  peb 
bles,  and  you're  a  set  of  fools  for  your  pains — you'd  better 
go  home,  and  dig  potatoes,"  and  rudely  snatching  the 
wheelbarrow,  Harry  tumbled  it  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
surf,  and  upset  all  the  contents  into  the  ocean ;  while 
Charles  Davenport  stood  by  snapping  his  fingers  with  ma 
licious  delight. 

It  was  a  dreadful  loss  to  poor  little  Susan,  who  burst  into 
a  bitter  fit  of  weeping,  and  Philip  stood  looking  angrily  on. 

These  were  larger  boys,  and  neither  of  Susan's  brothers 
felt  old  enough  to  attack  them,  although  they  were  boiling 
with  anger. 

Just  at  that  moment,  a  poor  boy  who  had  seen  the  whole 
proceeding,  stepped  up. 

'Tis  true  that  he  wore  patched  pantaloons,  which  were 
too  short,  and  an  old  threadbare  jacket ;  but  his  linen  collar, 
though  coarse,  was  white ;  and  his  shoes,  though  very  old 
and  worn  out,  were  neatly  tied  with  black  strings — poverty 
was  stamped  upon  his  attire,  but  nobility  upon  his  broad 
expansive  brow. 

A  look  of  manliness  which  shot  from  his  fine  dark  eyes, 


16  WOODCLIFF. 

and  the  firmness  which  compressed  the  lip,  rather  overawed 
the  boys  who  saw  him  advancing ;  but  when  their  mean 
spirits  perceived  the  poverty  of  his  attire,  contempt  mas 
tered  their  temporary  fear,  and  they  stood  ready  for  the  en 
counter. 

"  For  shame  I  young  gentlemen,"  said  the  boy,  "  could  n't 
you  find  your  equals  in  size  and  age  when  you  attempt 
such  cowardly  acts  ?"  * 

"  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  "  said  Harry  Castleton,  "  that  you 
dare  speak  to  your  betters  in  such  a  tone  ?  take  yourself 
off  in  a  minute,  or  I'll  lay  the  weight  of  my  cane  across 
your  face." 

"  I'm  a  boy  like  yourself,  young  gentleman,  but  I  scorn 
to  attack  weak  little  children  in  their  plays,  or  to  fight  with 
puppies." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  call  me  a  puppy  ?"  shouted  Harry  Cas 
tleton,  and  flying  at  the  boy,  he  dealt  him  a  violent  blow 
across  the  face,  causing  the  blood  to  fly  from  his  nose,  and 
at  the  same  moment,  kicking  the  little  wheelbarrow  out  into 
the  ocean. 

The  little  girl  with  the  golden  locks  had  been  looking  on 
the  scene,  but  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  blow  struck  by  the 
young  upstart,  she  flew  towards  the  boy. 

"Oh,  Harry  Castleton!  aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself! 
first  to  disturb  these  poor  little  children,  and  then  to  make 
a  coward  of  yourself  by  attacking  a  boy  that  won't  fight?" 
and  hastening  up  to  the  boy,  she  took  her  delicate  hand 
kerchief,  and  wiping  his  bleeding  nose,  she  said  kindly, 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  hurt." 

"  Not  much,  miss,  it's  only  a  trifle ;"  but  as  she  seated 
the  boy,  she  perceived  the  blood  gushing  from  a  wound  in 
the  temple,  that  she  had  not  seen  before. 

Running  to  the  surf,  she  brought  the  handkerchief  back 
again,  and  with  the  most  tender,  generous  care,  continued 
wiping  the  blood  which  still  kept  oozing  from  the  wound. 

Charles  and  Harry  stood  by  sneering. 


THE    SEA-SHORE.  It 

"Really,  coz,"  said  Charles,  "you  are  making  a  fool  of 
yourself,  waiting  upon  a  beggar  boy,  as  if  he  were  the  son 
of  a  gentleman." 

"  I  don't  think  that  fine  clothes  always  make  the  gentle 
man  ;  for  I'm  sure  I've  learned  this  afternoon,  that  the  feel 
ings  of  a  gentleman  may  lodge  under  a  threadbare  jacket ; 
what  is  your  name  young  gentleman  ?"  continued  the 
child. 

"  My  name  is  Roland  Bruce,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  mine  is  Madeline  Hamilton,"  was  the  frank  re 
sponse.  "  Why  didn't  you  knock  Harry  down  !  I  should  have 
been  so  angry  that  I'm  sure  I  should  have  struck  back 
again." 

"  I  was  very  angry,  miss,  but  I've  been  taught  that  '  He 
who  mastereth  his  spirit,  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a 
city.' 

"  But  when  you  are  struck,  I  think  that  you  ought  to 
defend  yourself." 

"  I  did,  by  trying  to  ward  off  the  blow ;  but  I  should  have 
made  it  no  better  by  stooping  to  fight  with  such  a  boy  as 
that." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you're  a  proud  boy,"  con 
tinued  the  child,  laughing,  "  and  I'm  sure  that  you  made 
those  upstarts  ashamed  of  themselves — see  how  they're 
slinking  off!  I'm  ashamed  to  call  Charles  Davenport  cou 
sin — do  you  feel  better?"  added  the  little  girl. 

"Yes,  thank  you,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind 
ness  ;  and  here,  miss,  is  your  pocket-handkerchief." 

"I  don't  want  it,"  said  the  child;  "you  must  wear  it 
home,"  and  she  tied  it  carefully  over  the  wounded  temple. 

As  the  boy  raised  his  cap  to  bid  her  good  afternoon, 
looking  after  him,  she  said  aloud,  "  I  wonder  what  is  meant 
by  a  nobleman,  nature's  nobleman  ?  I  guess  that's  one — I'd 
rather  call  him  cousin,  with  his  patched  clothes,  than  that 
mean,  contemptible  pair." 

Thus  soliloquized  Madeline  Hamilton,  the  spoiled  and 
2* 


18  WOODCLIFF. 

petted  child  of  rich  Mr.  Hamilton,  of  Woodcliff.  Turning 
to  little  Susan,  who  still  cried  for  her  wheelbarrow,  she 
said,  , 

"  Let  us  see  if  we  can't  find  your  barrow,"  and  running 
down  to  the  shore,  she  found  that  it  had  been  washed  up, 
and  was  fastened  between  a  couple  of  large  stones,  from 
which  she  soon  lifted  it,  and  restored  it  to  the  poor  child. 

"  Come  over  to  Woodcliff  to-morrow,  and  Aunt  Matilda 
will  give  you  something."  Then  giving  the  child  particular 
directions,  Madeline  returned  to  the  spot  where  she  had 
left  her  flat,  and  calling  Hector,  hastened  home.  It  was  a 
tolerably  long  walk,  and  by  the  time  that  she  reached  home, 
it  was  late  sundown. 

She  entered  full  of  excitement.  Throwing  down  her  flat, 
and  seating  herself  at  the  tea-table,  she  commenced  telling 
her  adventure. 

"Aunt  Matilda,"  continued  the  child,  "  what  is  a  noble 
man —  nature's  nobleman?" 

"  Why,  a  nobleman  is  one  who  is  born  of  a  noble  family, 
to  be  sure,"  was  the  answer.  "  Our  descent  is  English, 
and  our  ancestors  were  all  nobles." 

"  Once  I  remember  that  you  told  me  a  nobleman  was 
coming  to  dine  with  us,  and  I  expected  to  see  a  very  grand 
person  ;  and  when  he  came,  he  was  only  a  little  man,  who 
took  snuff  out  of  a  gold  snuff-box,  drank  wine,  and  talked 
about  hunting.  I  didn't  see  anything  noble  about  him. 
Another  time,  our  pastor  said  that  Mr.  Linwood  would  call 
upon  us,  who  had  divided  a  very  large  fortune  equally 
among  his  brothers  and  sisters,  though  they  had  all  been 
cut  off  by  the  father's  will.  Our  pastor  called  him  noble, 
because  he  had  done  a  noble  deed.  Now,  aunty,  there  is 
no  use  to  try  to  make  me  believe  anything  else — everybody 
is  noble  who  does  noble  acts ;  and  I  don't  care  how  he  is 
dressed,  or  where  he  lives.  Now,  aunty,  don't  be  affronted, 
I  can't  help  my  feelings ;  I  do  love  good  people,  and  high- 
spirited  people,  even  in  rags ;  and  I  hate  mean,  low-minded 


, 


THE    SEA-SHORE.  19 

people,  even  dressed  in  fine  clothes.  I  can't  act  deceitfully ; 
they  make  me  mad,  and  I  can't  help  showing  it.  Now, 
aunty,  what  is  a  gentleman  ?" 

"One  who  is  brought  up  with  the  manners  of  a  gentle 
man,  who  dresses  like  a  gentleman,  and  who  belongs  to  a 
genteel  family." 

"  Well,  aunt,  I  suppose  then  that  you  call  Charles  Da 
venport  a  gentleman  ?" 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  call  him  a  vulgar,  low-bred  boy ;  and,  aunt, 
I  suppose  that  you  would  call  Roland  Bruce,  with  his 
patched  clothes,  short  pantaloons,  and  old  jacket,  a  com 
mon  boy  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  would,  child  ;  why,  what  is  he  ?" 

"  Why,  I  think  he  must  be  one  of  nature's  noblemen,  for 
he  looked  ever  so  much  grander  than  Charles  or  Harry,  as 
he  stood  on  the  beach,  taking  the  part  of  poor  little  chil 
dren,  and  wouldn't  fight,  either.  They  looked  really  mean 
in  their  fine  dress,  and  he  looked  like  a  hero  in  his  poor 
clothes.  Give  me  nature's  nobleman,  after  all,  aunty." 

"  Brother,  just  listen  to  the  child,"  said  Aunt  Matilda ;  "  did 
you  ever  hear  such  horrid  talk  ?  I  can't  instil  any  proper 
pride  into  that  girl." 

Mr.  Hamilton  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
laughed  heartily  at  what  he  called  "Madcap's  spirit,"  and 
told  his  sister  "  not  to  be  alarmed,  for  he  was  afraid  that 
they'd  find  too  much  pride  there  some  day,  for  either  of 
them  to  manage." 

Aunt  Matilda  loved  her  high-spirited  little  niece,  and 
found  it  very  easy  to  forgive  her ;  but  she  was  often  sadly 
afraid  that  she  would  forget  her  rank,  and  disgrace  her 
family,  by  improper  connexions.  Soon  after  tea  was  over, 
Charles  and  Harry  made  their  appearance,  but  Madeline 
was  still  so  indignant  that  she  quickly  left  the  room,  and 
steadily  refused  all  her  aunt's  entreaties  to  return. 

"  They're  a  mean  pair,  aunty,  and  I  can't  see  either  of 


20  WOODCL1FF. 

them  this  evening,"  was  all  the  response  that  she  could 
obtain  from  her  wilful  little  niece. 

Before  retiring,  the  warm-hearted  child  sought  her  father's 
study,  and  seating  herself  on  his  lap,  laid  her  cheek  softly 
against  his,  and  said,  "  Papa,  kiss  me  before  I  go  to  bed. 
If  IV6  said  anything  wrong,  forgive  me,  dear  papa." 

"  No,  little  Mad-cap,  you've  done  nothing  wrong ;  only, 
dear,  I  don't  want  you  to  associate  with  all  kinds  of  com 
mon  people."  And  thus  the  impulsive  child's  faults  were 
winked  at  by  her  indulgent  father,  and  false  worldly  senti 
ments  inculcated  by  her  frivolous  aunt.  The  next  day, 
little  Susan  presented  herself  at  Woodcliff,  and  Aunt  Ma 
tilda,  who  was  really  kind-hearted,  gave  her  some  very  nice 
garments  for  her  mother  and  brothers  ;  and  Madeline,  with 
the  impulsiveness  of  her  nature,  was  loading  gifts  upon  her 
that  were  wholly  unsuitable,  until  aunty  came  in  to  check 
the  profuseness  of  the  generous  child  ;  and  Madeline  was 
sadly  disappointed  as  she  carried  back  to  her  wardrobe  a 
handsomely  flounced  pink  lawn,  and  a  pretty  little  jaunty 
hat  trimmed  with  flowers. 

"  I'm  sure  they  would  have  been  very  nice  for  Sundays," 
soliloquized  the  child ;  "  at  any  rate,  I  wanted  her  to  have 
them.  Aunt  Matilda  is  so  stingy  and  so  cross  —  dear  me! 
I  wish  I  was  a  young  lady,  just  to  do  as  I  please.  I'll 
have  what  I  want,  and  give  what  I  choose,  then,  that  I  will." 

Many  a  nice  garment  found  its  way  to  Mrs.  Grant,  for 
Madeline  regarded  little  Susan  as  her  own  particular  pro- 
te"ge  after  the  adventure  by  the  sea-shore,  and  the  child 
herself  was  never  tired  of  telling  her  mother  about  the  good 
boy  that  took  her  part  so  warmly,  and  the  beautiful  child 
that  wiped  his  face  with  her  fine  linen  handkerchief;  and 
the  mother  could  not  help  laughing  as  she  mimicked  the 
manner  in  which  Harry  and  Charles  sneaked  away  after 
her  indignant  rebuke ;  "  and  I  am  sure  that  they  are  no 
gentlemen,  though  they  were  dressed  ever  so  grand,"  was 
the  conclusion  that  little  Susan  always  reached  at  the  end 
of  her  story. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    EIDE    ON-  HORSEBACK. 

WOODCLIFP  is  truly  a  pleasant  home,  where  Mr.  Hamil 
ton  has  displayed  his  fine  taste,  and  rendered  it  one  of  the 
most  attractive  residences  in  the  whole  neighborhood.  It 
is  a  very  elegant  mansion,  surrounded  on  the  first  floor  by 
piazzas,  while  balconies  from  the  second  story  command  a 
fine  view  of  the  adjacent  country.  It  stands  majestically 
on  the  top  of  a  high  cliff,  sloping  down  in  grassy  terraces  to 
an  artificial  lake,  where  numerous  goldfish  enjoy  their  merry 
gambols,  and  where  Madeline  frequently  sits  dabbling  her 
pretty  white  feet,  and  throwing  crumbs  of  bread  to  the  pets 
which  she  has  tamed.  At  the  back  of  the  house  may  be 
seen  a  large  conservatory,  filled  with  rare  and  beautiful 
flowers,  and  at  the  opposite  wing  a  fine  library ;  both  wings 
opening  into  gardens  laid  out  with  the  most  exquisite  taste, 
adorned  with  every  variety  of  rich  and  costly  shrubbery. 

And  here  has  passed  the  childhood  of  Madeline  Hamil 
ton,  the  only  and  petted  child  of  a  father  who  idolizes  her, 
and  who  will  not  cross  her  strong  will,  or  deny  any  indul 
gence  that  wealth  can  purchase. 

Having  lost  her  mother  in  her  infancy,  her  only  female 
guide  is  a  maiden  aunt,  whose  weak  character  is  entirely 
unable  to  control  the  strong  will  of  her  wayward  little 
niece.  Indeed,  though  often  much  provoked,  a  few  cunning 
compliments,  and  a  shower  of  warm  kisses,  'could  at  any 
time  disarm  Aunt  Matilda's  anger ;  so  that  by  flattering  her 
aunt,  by  numerous  blandishments,  and  by  sundry  coaxing 
ways  with  her  father,  Madeline  pretty  generally  ruled  the 

(21) 


22  WOODCLIFF. 

household.  Though  proud  spirited  and  passionate,  she  had 
a  warm  and  generous  nature  —  a  creature  of  storms,  and 
tears,  and  smiles  ;  and  parlor  and  kitchen  alike  bent  to  the 
will  of  the  spoiled  child,  for  her  witcheries  had  bound  all 
to  her  little  car.  Her  favorite  amusement  was  riding  about 
the  country  upon  a  pony,  which  her  father  had  purchased 
for  her  two  years  before. 

Mounted  on  Selim,  away  she  would  scamper  up  and 
down  the  lanes  and  hills  of  Woodcliff,  sometimes  attended 
by  a  groom ;  but  if  she  could  contrive  to  elude  his  vigi 
lance,  most  frequently  she  took  these  rides  alone. 

Selim  was  very  gentle,  and  they  were  great  friends  ;  but 
occasionally  he  had  been  known  to  run  away  when  sud 
denly  frightened. 

Aunt  Matilda  often  remonstrated  against  these  wild  rides, 
but  all  in  vain. 

"  There  she  goes  like  a  Mad-cap  down  the  lane  !  I  tell 
you,  brother,  that  we  shall  have  her  brought  home  some 
day,  either  crippled  or  killed." 

Just  as  Aunt  Matilda  concluded  her  speech  to  Mr.  Ham 
ilton,  the  child  turned  her  beautiful  face,  beaming  with  mis 
chief,  back  upon  her  father,  and  waving  her  little  whip  in 
defiance,  she  tossed  her  bright  locks  to  the  wind,  and  gal 
loped  off. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  restrain  her,  sister ;  nothing  has  ever 
happened  yet,  and  it  seems  such  a  pity  to  check  such  a 
spirit  as  that." 

Madeline  was  in  high  glee,  and  Selim  was  equally  frolic 
some.  Taking  the  path  with  which  they  were  both  familiar, 
she  rode  gaily  along,  fearless  and  joyous,  singing  some 
merry  song. 

Passing  a  corner  of  the  road,  she  was  suddenly  attracted 
by  the  sight  of  the  boy  of  the  sea-shore.  As  she  passed, 
he  took  off  his  cap  respectfully  to  the  little  girl,  and  she 
returned  the  salutation  by  reining  up  her  horse,  and  inquir 
ing  about  his  injuries. 


A    RIDE    ON    HORSEBACK.  23 

"  They  are  quite  well,  miss,"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  mother 
is  very  thankful  to  the  young  lady,  who  so  kindly  lent  me 
her  handkerchief." 

Just  then  Maddy  perceived  Harry  and  Charles  riding 
rapidly  up  the  road,  and  who  started  off  at  a  quick  pace  as 
they  passed  her.  Charles  gave  two  or  three  cuts  of  his 
whip  upon  Selim's  haunches,  a  liberty  which  he  would  not 
bear.  He  started  in  full  gallop.  Madeline  kept  her  seat 
bravely,  but  with  a  pale  cheek  and  quivering  lip ;  for  now 
she  was  really  frightened,  and  found  herself  incapable  of 
checking  his  speed.  On  he  galloped,  more  and  more  fiercely, 
for  the  sight  of  the  flying  horses  but  increased  the  swift 
ness  of  his  flight. 

Roland  saw  her  danger,  and  every  moment  expected  to 
see  her  thrown  as  he  perceived  her  swaying  backward  and 
forward.  With  lightning  speed,  he  had  started  as  soon  as 
he  saw  the  mean  act  of  the  boys,  and  by  wondrous  efforts 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  horse.  Exerting  all  his  strength, 
he  headed  off  the  animal  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  and  seizing 
the  bridle,  held  on  even  while  the  horse  was  rearing. 

"Hold  tight,  Miss  Madeline,"  said  Roland,  with  a  firm 
voice;  "  men  are  coming." 

At  that  moment  he  was  thrown  to  the  ground,  but  still 
held  on  to  the  bridle,  though  kicked  severely  by  the  fright 
ened  animal. 

In  another  instant  two  men  arrived,  who  succeeded  in 
lifting  Madeline  from  Selim's  back  ;  and  extricating  Roland 
from  his  perilous  condition,  found  that  he  had  severely 
sprained  his  ankle,  and  received  several  bruises. 

Madeline  was  laid  fainting  upon  the  ground,  and  when 
the  boys  who  had  caused  the  accident  rode  up,  their 
blanched  countenances  indicated  the  terror  which  they 
really  felt. 

"  We  did  not  mean  to  throw  you,  coz,"  said  Charles ;  "  all 
we  meant  was  a  little  sport." 


£4  WOODCLIFP. 

"You  might  have  killed  your  cousin,  young  gentlemen," 
answered  Roland. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  low  upstart !  What  right  have 
you  here  ?"  was.  the  rude  reply. 

"  It  was  well  that  I  was  near,  for  Miss  Madeline  had 
not  much  to  hope  for  from  her  manly  cousins." 

"  Begone  1  you  ragamuffin !  We  want  none  of  your 
help." 

"  I  shall  not  go,  sir,  until  I  have  seen  Miss  Madeline  safe 
in  her  father's  house,''  was  the  quick  reply  ;  and  with  a  firm 
step,  Roland  advanced  towards  the  little  girl,  and  afcer  she 
was  sufficiently  recovered,  succeeded,  by  the  help  of  the 
men,  in  placing  her  upon  Selim's  back,  who  was  now  quite 
pacified.  Roland,  though  suffering  from  a  sprained  ankle, 
taking  the  horse's  bridle,  led  him  quietly  along. 

Seeing  Roland  master  of  the  field,  the  two  boys  sneaked 
away,  and  Madeline  said, 

"  I'm  glad  that  they  are  gone  ;  a  pair  of  mean  cowardly 
fellows!  I  can't  bear  Charley  Davenport;  but  I'm  afraid 
that  you  are  hurt,  Roland,"  continued  the  child,  and  I'm 
so  sorry  that  those  rude  boys  spoke  so  insultingly.  But 
don't  mind  them,  Roland ;  I  only  wish  you  were  my 
cousin,  instead  of  Charles." 

"  Don't  think  of  me,  miss  ;  you  were  kind  to  me  when  I 
was  hurt  the  other  day ;  and  I  am  so  glad  that  I  can  be  of 
any  service  to  you.  As  to  the  boys,  I  pity  them  ;  they  have 
never  been  taught  what  is  true  politeness." 

"There  is  Woodcliff,  Roland,"  said  Madeline,  as  she 
turned  into  the  avenue  which  led  to  the  house. 

Mr.  Hamilton  and  Aunt  Matilda  ran  hastily  down  to 
meet  her;  and  soon  they  perceived  her  horse  led  slowly 
along. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  darling  ?"  inquired  the  father, 
lifting  her  from  the  horse,  and  alarmed  at  her  pallid  coun 
tenance. 

much,  now,  papa ;  but  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 


A   RIDE    ON    HORSEBACK.  25 

bravery  of  this  good  boy,  I  might  have  been  killed,"  and 
as  soon  as  she  was  seated,  she  related  the  story  of  her  res 
cue  to  her  grateful  father. 

"  Thank  you,  my  brave  boy,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton,  as  he 
wrung  Roland's  hand.  "  You  have  done  me  a  favor  which 
I  shall  never  forget." 

As  Roland  stood  uncovered  in  Mr.  Hamilton's  presence, 
he  thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more  noble  boy, 
though  clad  in  the  garb  of  poverty.  Taking  out  his  pocket- 
book,  he  offered  him  a  five  dollar  note,  a  great  treasure  for 
Roland  Bruce.  Drawing  himself  proudly  up,  while  the 
color  mounted  to  his  very  temples,  he  said: 

"  Excuse  me,  sir ;  I  would  not  lose  the  pleasure  of  help 
ing  Miss  Madeline,  and  poor  as  I  am,  I  cannot  receive  any 
thing  for  an  act  so  simple^" 

"  If  I  can  serve  you  in  any  way,  iny  boy,  come  to  me 
freely  ;  I  should  be  most  happy  to  aid  you." 

Just  then  the  two  cousins  rode  slowly  up  the  avenue, 
and  felt  justly  humbled  at  the  sharp  reproofs  administered 
in  the  presence  of  Roland  Bruce. 

"  Boys,  lam  heartily  ashamed  of  you.  When  you  prac 
tise  jokes  of  this  kind,  let  it  be  on  some  one  beside  a  little 
girl ;  I  am  sorry  that  your  cousin  had  to  find  a  protector  in 
a  stranger." 

"  Papa,  look  at  Roland,  how  pale  he  is !"  exclaimed 
Madeline,  just  as  he  sank  down  exhausted  on  the  step  of 
the  piazza. 

"  You  are  hurt,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 

Roland  tried  to  smile,  but  the  pain  of  his  ankle  was  so 
severe,  that  he  could  no  longer  conceal  his  sufferings.  "  I 
think  that  I  have  sprained  my  ankle,"  was  the  answer. 

Mr.  Hamilton  instantly  took  off  the  shoe,  and  was 
shocked  to  see  how  much  it  was  swollen. 

"  You  must  come  in,  my  boy,  and  have  remedies  applied 
at  once." 

After  bathing  and  bandaging  the  limb,  much  to  the 
3 


26  WOODCLIFF. 

mortification  of  the  two  boys,  Roland  was  sent  home  in  the 
buggy,  under  the  care  of  the  coachman  Charles  and 
Harry  shrank  away  into  the  house,  and  Madeline  cried 
because  her  friend  was  hurt. 

"Won't  you  send  over  to-morrow,  papa,  to  see  how  he, 
is?  He  is  such  a  good,  brave  boy." 

"  Yes,  my  child,  all  shall  be  done  that  is  right ;  but  you 
must  not  fret  so  much  about  a  stranger." 

With  the  careful  nursing  of  a  good  mother,  and  the  kind 
attentions  of  Mr.  Hamilton,  Roland  soon  recovered,  and 
Madeline  frequently  stopped  at  the  cottage  door  to  inquire 
for  her  young  protector. 

Mr.  Hamilton  was  sadly  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do 
with  his  wild  little  daughter. 

She  was  now  ten  years  old,  with  bright  talents,  but  a 
wholly  undisciplined  mind  ;  for  nothing  of  importance  had 
yet  been  done  in  the  great  task  of  education,  unless  we 
except  a  physical  form  of  perfectly  healthy  development. 

She  had  free  access  to  her  father's  library,  and  devoured 
indiscriminately  whatever  came  in  her  way — history,  poetry, 
romance — and  it  was  really  amusing  to  see  with  what 
facility  she  personified  her  favorite  characters ;  and  how 
much  she  remembered  of  the  wild  legends  of  feudal  days, 
and  of  the  lords  and  ladies  that  graced  the  Courts  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  Mary  Stuart. 

Sir  William  Wallace  and  Robert  Bruce,  were,  however, 
her  great  heroes,  and  were  ever  uppermost  in  her  mind 
whenever  she  heard  of  a  great  man. 

Fairy  tales  were  her  delight ;  and  Madeline  was  never 
better  pleased  than  when  she  could  gather  an  audience  of 
youthful  listeners,  to  whom  she  could  relate  the  wonderful 
doings  of  these  little  people. 

Acting  out  in  her  fanciful  costumes  either  the  grandeur 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  the  grace  of  Mary  Stuart,  or  the 
changing  fortunes  of  Cinderella,  Madeline  amused  her 
father  and  Aunt  Matilda  by  her  witcheries  part  of  the  day, 


A    RIDE    ON    HORSEBACK.  27 

spending  the  remainder  of  her  time  in  -her  wild  frolics  on 
the  back  of  Selim,  scouring  the  woods,  or  frequently 
attended  by  Hector,  rambling  on  the  seashore.  , 

Two  or  more  hair-breadth  escapes  by  land  and  water,  at 
last  decided  Mr.  Hamilton  that  he  must  get  a  governess 
for  his  mad-cap  daughter,  and  much  to  her  disgust,  she  was 
told  that  papa  had  gone  to  Boston  to  bring  back  a  lady,  to 
take  charge  of  her  education. 

"  Now,  I  suppose,  aunty,  that  I  am  to  be  tied  down  to 
old  musty  books,  slate,  pencil  and  pen,  and  everlasting 
thrumming  on  the  old  piano — good-bye  to  the  wild  woods, 
and  the  sea-shore.  I  know  I  shall  get  sick ;  I  always  get 
sick  over  school-books ;  and  then  papa  will  have  to  send. 
Miss  Prosy  away;  we'll  see,  that  we  will,"  tapping  her 
little  foot  impatiently  on  the  velvet  carpet,  and  darting  a 
quick  mischievous  glance  at  her  aunt,  she  continued,  "  I'll 
make  this  house  too  warm  for  Miss  Prosy.  I  tell  you, 
aunty,  she'll  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  Madeline  Hamilton  be 
fore  long,"  and  tossing  aside  her  ringlets,  she  dashed  out 
of  the  room,  humming  a  lively  tune. 

Madeline  sought  her  maid,  Nanny,  into  whose  ears  she 
poured  all  her  grievances. 

"  Nanny,  is  it  not  too  bad  ?  There's  papa  gone  off  to 
Boston,  to  bring  back  some  horrid  old  teacher  to  spoil  all 
my  fun.  I  expect  she  is  tall  and  thin,  and  yellow  and 
cross.  I  know  I  shan't  like  her;  I  never  did  like  a  teacher 
jet." 

"  I'm  real  sorry,  Miss  Maddy,  for  I  think  you  know  more 
now  than  half  of  the  little  girls.  You  can  say  Cinderella, 
and  can  act  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  Queen  Mary,  and  can 
make  verses,  and  ever  so  much." 

Madeline  was  a  shrewd  child,  and  knew  very  well  that 
such  foolish  things  were  of  no  manner  of  use  to  any  little 
girl. 

She  could  not  help  smiling  at  Nanny's  simplicity,  and 
said, 


28  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Nanny,  these  things  only  amuse  me. 
I  know  that  there  is  a  great  deal  more  to  learn,  but  I  don't 
want  to  take  the  trouble." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  miss ;  yonr  papa  won't  make  you  learn 
if  you  don't  want  to ;  and  if  you  don't  like  the  teacher,  I 
can  help  you  to  get  her  away." 

"  That  is  a  dear  good  Nanny  ;  I'll  give  you  a  new  dress, 
and  pretty  collar,  if  you'll  only  be  my  friend." 

"  I  know  what  to  do,  miss ;  if  I  tell  your  papa  that  you 
don't  sleep  well,  and  that  you  are  getting  pale,  he'll  think 
that  you  are  going  to  be  sick,  and  will  send  her  away,  1 
know." 

"  Well,  Nanny,  I  am  not  sick  now.  I  feel  as  merry  as  a 
lark.  Do  you  want  to  hear  my  little  song,  Nanny  ?'' 

Dancing  about  the  room,  in  a  sweet  clear  voice,  she 
commenced  singing, 

Away,  away  to  the  woods  for  me, 
Away,  away  to  the  dear  old  sea ; 
Away  up  the  hills,  and  down  the  lanes, 
As  I  give  to  Selim  the  lightest  reins. 

Then  away  we  scamper  in  many  a  race, 
Giving  old  Hector  a  good  wild  chase ; 
Books  and  slates  are  very  good  things, 
But  Mad-cap  would  rather  dance  and  sing. 
Away,  away  to  the  woods  for  me, 
Away,  away  to  the  dear  old  sea. 

"Did  you  really  make  up  that  song,  Miss  Maddy?" 
asked  the  wondering  Nanny. 

Madeline  burst  out  laughing  as  she  replied,  "  Why,  yes, 
Nanny,  I  often  make  up  such  little  pieces.'' 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do  it,  Miss  Madeline  ?'' 

"I  don't  know,  Nanny;  the  words  just  come  to  me 
themselves." 

"  Why  sure !  what  a  wonderful  child  !  What's  the  use 
of  getting  a  teacher;  I  guess  Miss  Prosser  can't  make 
verses." 


CHAPTER    III. 

MADDY'S  TRIUMPH. 

LATE  on  Saturday  evening,  Mr.  Hamilton  arrived  with 
a  pale  sad  looking  lady,  whom  he  introduced  as  Miss 
Prosser. 

Aunt  Matilda  received  her  as  a  lady,  but  wilful  little 
Madeline,  with  a  cunning  glance  of  her  eye,  extended  her 
hand  reluctantly,  and  saluted  her  as  Miss  Prosy. 

"  Prosser,  my  dear,"  corrected  the  father. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot — Miss  Prosser ;  do  you  give  hard 
lessons,  Miss  Prosy  ?"  continued  the  child. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  have  any  cause  to  com 
plain,  if  you  will  only  be  diligent  and  obedient." 

"  Those  are  two  words  which  I  have  never  been  taught 
yet,  Miss  Prosy." 

"  Prosser,  my  dear,  Prosser,"  interrupted  the  father. 
"  I  hope  that  you  will  find  Madeline  all  that  you  desire 
after  awhile.  She  is  a  wild  little^  girl  now ;  lessons  will 
be  hard  at  first,  and  you  must  not  keep  her  too  close." 

Monday  morning  arrived,  and  Madeline  was  summoned 
to  the  library,  where  her  studies  were  to  be  pursued. 

Miss  Prosser  was  one  of  the  rigid  school  of  disciplina 
rians;  and  Madeline,  with  the  quick  instinct  of  a  bright 
child,  soon  felt  that  there  would  never  be  any  bond  of 
union  between  herself  and  the  sad  lady,  who  appointed  her 
daily  tasks. 

The  first  hour  passed  tolerably,  the  second  wearily,  but  the 
third,  which  introduced  her  wild  imaginative  mind  to  the 
severe  discipline  of  arithmetic,  was  insufferable  ;  and  throw- 
3*  29 


30  WOODCL1FF. 

ing  down  her  book  impatiently,  she  said,  "  I'm  tired  of  this 
stuff;  I  can't  do  any  more  this  day  ;  good-bye,  Miss  Prosy," 
and  away  started  the  wild  child,  ere  her  governess  could 
express  her  surprise. 

Running  to  her  father,  who  was  just  going  out  to  ride, 
she  begged  so  bewitchingly  to  accompany  him,  that  papa 
could  not  refuse  her;  and  Miss  Prosser  had  the  mortifica 
tion  of  seeing  her  out  of  the  library  window,  galloping 
down  the  avenue  on  Selim,  with  her  flat  set  jauntily  upon 
her  bright  young  head,  and  she,  poor  lady,  mourning  over 
her  wilful  scholar. 

"  Really,  my  dear,  you  must  not  do  this  again ;  Miss 
Prosser  will  be  offended." 

"  I  was  so  tired,  dear  papa ;  I  felt  as  if  I  would  smother 
in  that  warm  room ;  and  when  she  placed  the  multiplica 
tion  table  before  me,  I  knew  it  was  of  no  use  to  try ;  I 
shall  never  learn  the  horrid  old  thing,  I  know." 

Day  after  day,  Madeline  wearied  the  patience  of  her 
teacher.  Sometimes,  when  it  was  her  whim,  she  would 
apply  herself  most  earnestly  to  some  favorite  exercise,  and 
surprise  her  at  the  quickness  with  which  she  mastered  even 
difficult  lessons ;  but  as  to  regular,  systematic  study,  it  was 
out  of  the  question. 

Sometimes  she  would  teaze  Miss  Prosser  with  endless 
questions. 

"  Miss  Prosy,  why  did  you  not  get  married  ?  you  are 
very  good-looking,"  inquired  the  teazing  child. 

"  Miss  Madeline,  study  that  lesson,  and  don't  spend  your 
time  in  asking  such  foolish  questions." 

"  I'm  not  in  the  humor,  Miss  Prosy ;  I  feel  lazy ;  I'd 
much  rather  talk ;  and  papa  says  he  don't  like  me  forced 
to  study." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  be  an  intelligent  woman,  Madeline  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  indeed ;  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  an  old 
maid,  if  I  think  too  much  of  learning.  I  can  gain  a  great 
deal  by  reading,  and  that  is  what  I  like." 


MADDY'S  TRIUMPH.  31 

"Aren't  you  going  to  study  this  morning?"  continued 
Miss  Prosser. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall ;  I  don't  feel  very  well ;  and  if  you 
have  no  objection,  I'll  lie  down  on  the  sofa,  and  read  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake." 

Miss  Prosser  knew  that  it  was  in  vain  to  enforce  obedi 
ence  ;  for  in  all  cases,  appeals  to  Mr.  Hamilton  ended  in 
Madeline's  victory,  and  generally  she  had  to  wait  upon  the 
young  lady's  whims. 

"  Why,  Miss  Prosser,  I  do  believe  that  you  are  growing 
gray ;  and  you  always  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  cry." 

Just  then,  perceiving  that  two  large  tears  dropped  upon 
the  book  which  she  was  using,  Madeline,  with  all  the  im 
pulsive  warmth  of  her  nature,  threw  her  arms  around  Miss 
Prosser,  saying, 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings ;  I  do  so  like  a 
little  bit  of  fun." 

"  You  should  learn,  my  child,  to  restrain  your  impetuous 
nature,  for  thoughtless  words  may  wound  as  deeply  as  in 
tended  ones.  I  have  known  much  of  sorrow,  Madeline. 
Once  I  was  the  centre  of  a  happy  home,  where  I  was  cher 
ished  as  tenderly  as  you  are  now ;  but  now  I  am  all  alone 
in  the  world — an  orphan,  and  penniless." 

"Do  forgive  me,  dear  Miss  Prosser,"  replied  the  child ; 
"  I  will  never  do  so  again,"  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  bowed  her  head  and  wept. 

"I  do  forgive  you,  Madeline,  heartily:  but  do,  my  dear 
child,  try  to  think  always  of  the  feelings  of  others." 

Madeline  was  subdued  all  that  day.  At  the  table,  she 
was  careful  to  see  that  Miss  Prosser  had  the  nicest  little 
delicacies,  and  when  she  went  to  her  room  at  night,  the 
warm-hearted  child  followed  to  see  that  she  was  comfort 
able,  and  kissing  her,  bade  her  good  night. 

Matters  progressed  v.ery  well  for  a  few  days.  Madeline 
seemed  as  if  she  really  meant  to  be  a  good  child,  and  under 
the  new  impulse,  the  governess  was  hopeful. 


32  WOODCLIFF. 

The  mornings  spent  in  the  library  were  all  that  she 
could  desire.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  come  into  contact  with 
such  a  fresh,  original  mind,  as  that  of  her  bright  little  pupil ; 
and  then  Madeline  really  appeared  to  be  learning  the  art 
of  self-control. 

"There  comes  Hector!"  she  exclaimed  one  morning,  as 
the  sharp  bark  of  her  dog  was  heard  at  the  door.  Formerly, 
she  would  have  thrown  down  her  books,  and  rushed  out  to 
meet  her  favorite. 

'Tis  true  that  she  did  for  one  moment  arise  from  her 
seat,  but  quickly  returning,  she  said,  "There,  Hector,  go 
away  this  time,  that's  a  good  dog ;"  and  though  he  con 
tinued  whining  and  scratching  at  the  door,  she  remained 
resolute,  and  refused  him  admittance. 

This  was  quite  a  triumph  for  Madeline,  and  Miss  Prosser 
repaid  her  with  a  smile  of  encouragement,  which  impelled 
Madeline,  with  a  heightcnd  color,  to  renewed  efforts  of 
diligent  study.  Occasionally,  there  would  be  outbreaks  of 
the  old  spirt  of  mischief,  but  generally,  the  progress  was 
onward. 

One  morning,  Madeline,  full  of  excitement,  met  her 
teacher.  "  Only  think  Miss  Prosser,  my  cousin  is  coming ; 
Lavinia  Raymond,  Oh  !  what  a  nice  time  we  shall  have  ; 
she's  the  girl  for  fun ;  when  she's  here,  we  are  out  every 
day  somewhere.  I  know  papa  will  give  me  a  holiday ;  I 
mean  to  coax  hard,  and  he  never  refuses  his  little  Mad 
cap." 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  you  certainly  don't  expect  to  give 
up  your  studies  while  Lavinia  is  here." 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  I  think  I  have  learned  enough  now  for 
the  last  month  to  last  me  all  the1  time  that  she  stays  with 
us." 

Mad-cap's  spirits  were  fully  aroused;  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  bring  her  into  any  kind  of  composure,  and 
Miss  Prosser  was  compelled  to  shorten  the  exercises  for 
that  day  at  least. 


MADDY'S  TRIUMPH.  33 

Lavinia  was  expected  late  in  the  afternoon.  As  soon  as 
dinner  was  over,  Madeline  commenced  her  visits  to  the  win 
dow,  the  door,  and  even  to  the  gate,  which  led  to  the  avenue, 
backward  and  forward,  until  she  was  nearly  tired  out. 

"  Papa,  I  don't  believe  that  she  is  coming  at  all,"  at 
length  uttered  the  impatient  child. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear,  that  it  is  only  six  o'clock," 
replied  Mr.  Hamilton,  smiling,  and  taking  out  his  watch ; 
"  they  cannot  possibly  reach  here  before  seven,  so  you  had 
better  run  in,  and  amuse  yourself  at  your  piano." 

Away  ran  Maddy  —  opening  her  instrument,  she  rattled 
away  for  about  ten  minutes;  then  calling  Hector,  and 
throwing  on  her  flat,  down  the  avenue,  through  the  gate, 
and  out  into  the  open  road  she  started  at  full  speed.  At 
length,  after  sundry  races  of  the  same  description,  she 
spied  a  distant  carriage,  but  was  bitterly  disappointed 
when  she  found  that  it  only  contained  a  party  of  strangers. 
Seven  o'clock  came,  but  no  cousin.  Discouraged,  she 
seated  herself  on  the  piazza,  and  when  at  length  she  found 
that  the  carriage  had  entered  the  avenue,  standing  tip-toe 
on  the  lower  step,  she  awaited,  with  a  glowing  cheek,  the 
letting  down  of  the  carriage  step.  In  another  minute,  Lavinha 
was  in  her  cousin's  arms,  and  Mrs.  Raymond  warmly  wel 
comed  by  her  brother-in-law  and  Aunt  Matilda. 

She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  devoted  to  fashion,  and 
training  her  daughter  in  all  its  follies.  Lavinia  was  two 
years  older  than  Madeline,  but  completely  a  spoiled  child 
of  folly  —  the  only  bond  of  sympathy  between  her  and 
Madeline,  was  their  mutual  love  of  mischief. 

"  Take  me  to  my  room,  Maddy,  I  want  to  make  my 
toilet,"  was  the  first  request  of  Lavinia;  and  accompanied 
by  her  maid,  Madeline  led  her  to  her  chamber. 

Our  natural  little  girl  was  greatly  amused  by  the  pains 
bestowed  upon  a  child's  toilet ;  for  the  utmost  time  that 
Madeline  could  spare,  was  to  bathe  thoroughly,  twist  her 
nnglets  hastily  around  her  fingers,  put  on  her  simple  dress, 


34  WOODCLIFP. 

and  without  another  thought,  her  toilet  was  completed. 
But  Laviniu  was  washed  and  powdered,  combed  and 
poinatummed,  her  head  dressed  like  a  woman's,  and  after 
the  indulgence  of  an  hour's  whims,  Susette  pronounced 
her  "comme  il  faut.-'  What  a  contrast  between  the 
affectation  of  Lavina  Raymond,  and  £he  natural  sportive 
grace  of  Madeline  Hamilton ! 

At  the  table,  Mrs.  Raymond  answered  the  polite  bow 
of  Miss  Prosser  with  a  supercilious  stare,  and  Lavinia, 
imitating  her  mother's  rudeness,  scarcely  noticed  her 
presence. 

After  a  few  days  of  unrestrained  license,  Miss  Prosser 
ventured  to  remonstrate  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  but  he  could 
not  think  of  interfering  with  Mad-cap's  pleasures ;  and  all 
that  he  would  consent  to  was,  that  Lavinia  and  Madeline 
should  spend  two  hours  daily  at  their  studies,  unless 
otherwise  engaged.  Two  or  three  mornings  of  every 
week,  they  were  off  on  some  excursion  of  pleasure ;  the 
remainder  of  the  time  was  broken  in  upon  by  every  trivial 
excuse  that  could  be  invented.  Indeed,  since  Lavinia's 
arrival,  Miss  Prosser's  influence  was  at  an  end ;  lessons 
were  to  be  excused,  musical  practice  virtually  had  closed. 

Lavinia  would  not  study,  and  even  when  Madeline  was 
so  disposed,  she  would  not  allow  her  to  do  anything  but 
play.  Weary  were  the  hours  of  the  sad  governess,  and  once 
more  the  prospect  of  another  change  began  to  loom  up 
gloomily  in  the  distant  horizon.  She  had  hoped  that  she 
was  at  least  for  years  at  rest ;  but  the  orders  to  march  rang 
daily  in  her  ears. 

After  many  trials  and  disappointments,  Miss  Prosser, 
utterly  discouraged,  was  contemplating  the  perplexity  of  her 
situation.  Seated  one  morning  in  the  library,  waiting  for 
her  wayward  pupils,  she  was  suddenly  surprised  by  the 
entrance  of  Mr.  Hamilton.  Her  sad  weary  expression  of 
countenance  touched  him  for  a  moment,  and  he  said,  "  I  arn 
sorry,  Miss  Prosser,  that  my  little  girl  is  so  wilful,  but  I 


MADDY'S  TRIUMPH.  35 

have  not  the  heart  to  deny  her  anything,  and  when  Lavinia 
has  gone,  we  shall  return  to  the  old  order  of  things." 

"I  fear,  by  that  time,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  shall  find  it  im 
possible  to  bring  Madeline  into  any  kind  of  subjection  ;  I 
am  greatly  perplexed,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  receive  a  salary 
fur  doing  nothing." 

"  You  need  not  mind,  Miss  Prosser,  if  I  do  not  com 
plain." 

"  I  do  object,  sir,  to  receive  a  salary  without  giving  the 
equivalent,  and  seriously  conclude  that  I  cannot  do  so  much 
longer." 

"Do  have  a  little  patience,  Miss  Prosser;  Lavinia  will 
leave  in  about  a  month,  and  then  we  shall  be  regular  once 
more." 

Poor  Miss  Prosser  was  still  severely  tried ;  practical  jokes 
were  frequently  played  upon  her,  and  although  she  was  cer 
tain  that  Madeline  had  not  taken  an  active  part  in  them, 
still  it  pained  her  to  see  that  even  she  could  be  amused  at 
her  expense.  Matters  grew  worse  instead  of  better ;  Made 
line  was  impatient,  and  Lavinia  indifferent. 

The  month  rolled  on ;  Lavinia  and  her  mother  took  their 
departure ;  and  Miss  Prosser  endeavored  once  more  to 
regain  her  influence  over  her  pupil. 

"  Come,  Madeline,  aren't  you  tired  of  play?"  asked  the 
governess. 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  hate  books  and  study,  and  long,  sad  faces ; 
Lavinia  don't  go  to  school  but  half  the  year,  and  I  am  going 
to  coax  papa  to  let  me  stop  until  next  winter." 

"Just  come,  now,  Madeline,  and  let  us  read  a  little  to 
gether;  you  have  not  said  one  lesson  for  three  weeks." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must,  just  to  please  you,  Miss  Pros 
ser  ;  but  let  it  be  a  short  one." 

Maddy  soon  commenced  yawning,  and  as  soon  as  the  les 
son  was  over,  brought  out  her  favorite  volume  of  Shak- 
speare,  and  really  did  manage  to  spend  another  hour  in 
searching  for  beauties  in  her  pet  author;  but  one  hour  was 


36  WOODCLIFF. 

sufficient,  and,  begging  to  be  excused,  she  was  gone.  And 
thus  the  patience  of  the  poor  lady  was  taxed  daily,  her 
spirits  sank,  aud  too  conscientious  to  hold  such  a  position, 
she  fully  made  up  her  mind  to  resign.  Accordingly,  on 
the  next  day,  Madeline's  'father  was  summoned  to  the 
library. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Hamilton,  to  resign  my  charge ; 
I  have  tried  it  for  six  months,  but  in  vain.  Your  child  has 
the  brightest  talents,  but  the  system  of  indulgence  pursued 
towards  her,  precludes  entirely  the  possibility  of  improve 
ment.  I  must  have  my  pupils  advance,  or  I  cannot  be 
happy.  I  have  nothing  else  to  complain  of;  my  quarter 
will  expire  next  week,  and  then  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  leave." 

"I  am  sorry,  Miss  Prosser;  but  I  suppose  that  it  cannot 
be  helped." 

The  lady  smiled  at  this  acknowledgment  of  weakness  j 
but  her  resolution  was  taken. 

The  sad,  pale  teacher  took  her  leave  on  the  following 
Saturday,  and  when  Madeline  found  that  she  was  really 
going,  with  the  perverseness  of  such  wayward  natures,  she 
was  actually  sorry ;  she  had  learned  to  respect  her  gov. 
ejness,  and  really  liked  her  better  than  any  who  had  ever 
taught  her  before. 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Prosser ;  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  been 
so  naughty,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Papa  says  so ;  and  I  know 
it  is  so.  Here's  a  breastpin,  with  some  of  Mad-cap's  hair 
in  it;  will  you  show  that  you  forgive  me  by  wearing 
it?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  child ;  I  shall  always  remember 
your  warm  little  heart ;  and  if  ever  you  change  your  ways, 
and  desire  to  hear  from  your  friend,  write  to  Messrs. Wood 
&  Co.,  Boston.  I  think  that  you  will,  Madeline  ;  but  some 
one  else  must  be  the  teacher.  I  have  tried  my  utmost,  and 
failed." 

Strange  to  say,  Madeline  shed  some  natural  tears  as 
she  saw  the  carriage  vanish  with  her  governess ;  but  in  a 


MADDY'S  TRIUMPH.  3t 

few  days,  the  feeling  of  perfect  liberty  in  which  she  revelled, 
obliterated  all  the  regret,  and  Hector  and  Seliin  were 
again  her  constant  companions. 

"  Dear  me,  brother,"  said  Aunt  Matilda,  "  what  shall 
we  do  with  the  child;  she  is  now  nearly  eleven,  and 
scarcely  any  education." 

"  Time  enough  yet,  Matilda ;  she'll  be  all  right ;  don't  be 
afraid  of  Mad-cap,  she  is  bright  as  a  diamond." 


CHAPTER    IT. 

TOO    PROUD     TO    BEND. 

"  I  WISH  I  had  something  to  do ;  I  am  tired  of  playing, 
tired  of  riding,  tired  of  everything — I  have  nobody  to 
speak  to  but  papa,  and  Aunt  Matilda,  and  Selim,  and  my 
other  pets."  Thus  soliloquized  Madeline,  as,  with  a  weary 
yawn,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  sofa  in  the  library.  "  I 
get  so  tired  of  Aunt  Matilda,  she  never  talks  any  sense : 
nothing  but  head-dresses,  and  her  complexion,  her  white 
hands,  and  the  days  when  she  was  young.  Miss  Prosser 
did  talk  sense,  and  I  wish  sh%  were  back  again ;  I  always 
liked  her  when  she  made  me  do  what  she  commanded. 
I  did  not  let  her  know  it,  though  ;  I  am  too  proud  for  that." 
And  Madeline  tapped  her  little  foot  upon  the  carpet,  her 
usual  way  of  expressing  a  chafed,  impatient  spirit.  "  I 
think  I  heard  the  bell  ring,"  and  running  to  the  window, 
she  peeped  through  the  thin  curtains,  to  see  who  was 
there.  "  Oh  I  dear,  if  there  isn't  Roland  Bruce  —  what's 
that  he  has  got  in  his  basket?"  Just  then  a  servant 
entered. 

"  Miss  Madeline,  a  poor  boy  wants  to  see  you  at  the  door." 

"  0,  yes,  I  know  ;  I  am  so  glad  to  see  him,"  and  away 
she  flew. 

Roland  took  off  his  cap  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  little 
girl,  and  with  a  modest  air,  he  said : 

"I  thought,  Miss  Madeline,  that  you  would  like  these 
pretty  doves,"  uncovering  his  basket. 

Madeline  peeped  in,  and  there  lay  the  sweetest  little 
ring-doves,  with  their  soft  eyes  looking  up  in  her  face. 
(38) 


TOO    PROUD    TO    BEND.  39 

"  Oh,  Roland,  what  a  good  boy  you  are !  they  are  so 
pretty  ;  it's  just  what  I  have  wanted  so  long." 

"  Here's  some  chickweed,  too,  Miss  Madeline,  for  your 
canary  ;  we  have  so  much  in  .our  garden ;  and  I  thought 
you  would  like  some  lilies  of  the  valley." 

"  0,  thank  you,  Roland,  how  good  you  are  to  remember 
me !  Now  let  us  run  out  into  the  garden,  and  you  shall 
plant  the  lilies." 

Leaving  her  doves  in  the  care  of  Nanny,  her  own  maid, 
away  scampered  the  child,  hair  flying,  and  eyes  beaming 
with  innocent  delight. 

"Here,  Roland,  this  is  my  garden,"  said  the  child, 
pointing  to  a  corner  of  the  grounds  which  bore  many 
marks  of  careless  culture.  "  Here  I  come  to  dig  and  weed, 
but  I  get  tired  of  it;  I  get  tired  of  everything,  Roland." 

"  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  come,  Miss,  and  look  after  your 
flowers ;  I  know  something  about  them,  for  we  raise  them 
and  sell  them  to  our  neighbors.  I  have  not  forgotten  your 
kindness,  Miss  Madeline." 

"I  wish  you  were  my  brother,  or  my  cousin,  Roland, 
what  nice  times  we  should  have  !  I  have  a  boat,  a  pony, 
and  a  dog,  and  so  many  things ;  but  for  all  that,  I  get  so 
tired." 

"  Have  you  any  books,  Miss  Madeline  ?"  continued  the 
boy. 

"  Books  !  why  I  have  more  than  I  can  count — all  kinds 
of  books." 

"Do  you  never  study,  Miss  Madeline  ?"  inquired  Roland, 
with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  Study !  no,  indeed,  I  hate  study.  I  like  to  read  stories? 
and  poetry,  and  fairy  tales,  and  accounts  of  great  men  — 
did  you  ever  hear  of  Robert  Bruce  ?  he's  my  hero ; 
wasn't  it  nice  when  the  spider  taught  him  such  a  lesson  ?" 

"  I've  read  about  him,  Miss  Madeline,  for  my  mother 
has  told  me  so  much  about  Scotland  —  both  my  parents 
were  Scotch." 


40  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Were  they,  Roland  ?  may  be  you're  some  relation  to 
Robert  Bruce ;  why  I  do  believe  you  are." 

Roland  smiled  at  her  simplicity,  and  stooping  down, 
planted  his  modest  flowers  in  a  shady  corner. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  to  our  school,  Miss  Madeline  ? 
Mr.  Norton  is  such  a  good  teacher." 

"Where  is  your  school,  Roland?"  asked  the  child. 

"  It  is  about  a  mile  from  here,  in  Maple  Lane,  and  such 
a  pleasant  walk  in  fine  weather." 

"  Is  Mr.  Norton  cross,  Roland  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;  he's  the  best  friend  that  I  ever  had." 

"  Have  they  more  teachers  than  one  ?'' 

"  Yes — Mr.  Norton  the  principal,  Miss  Adams  the  first 
assistant,  and  Miss  Corning  second." 

"Are  there  many  scholars,  Roland?'' 

"  I  think  we  have  sixty,  Miss  Madeline ;  Mr.  Norton 
makes  everything  so  pleasant,  and  learning  so  easy.'' 

"  I'll  coax  papa  to  let  me  come ;  you'll  help  me  to  learn, 
won't  you,  Roland?'' 

Madeline  was  sorry  when  Roland  turned  to  go  home. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  the  child,  "  you'll  see  me  at  your 
school ;  if  I  take  it  into  my  head,  I  can  go ;"  and  running 
back  to  the  house,  once  more  she  visited  her  little  pets, 
and  named  them  Patty  and  Jim.  Impatiently  she  awaited 
papa's  arrival  from  his  ride.  As  soon  as  he  was  seated, 
jumping  on  his  lap,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  looking  up  in  his  face  with  her  own  bewitching  way, 
she  said: 

"Now,  papa,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something." 

"What  is  it,  Maddy?  It  is  not  much  that  I  can  refuse 
you." 

"Well,  it's  something  good,  papaf  you'll  like  it,  I  know. 
I  want  you  to  let  me  go  to  the  school  in  Maple  Lane. 
Mary  James,  Minnie  Scott,  Lizzie  Belton,  and  Ellen 
Taylor  all  go;  and  I  think  it  will  be  much  better  than 
school  all  alone,  and  no  one  to  speak  to  but  the  teacher." 


TOO    PROUD    TO    BEND.  41 

"I  must  make  some  inquiries  first,  Mad-cap,"  answered 
her  father. 

"  Won't  you  go  to-morrow,  papa  ?  I  want  to  go  right 
off,  and  I  promise  you  that  I'll  study  hard;  just  let  me  go, 
that's  a  dear  papa." 

"Well,  I'll  see  about  it  to-morrow,  Madeline,  and  if  all 
is  right,  you  shall  go;  I  will  do  anything  to  make  you 
learn." 

Next  morning  Mr.  Hamilton  made  the  necessary  calls 
upon  the  parents  of  the  children  named  by  Madeline,  saw 
the  principal,  entered  her  name,  and  all  being  satisfactory, 
his  consent  was  fully  given. 

"  Well,  Maddy,  all  is  settled ;  you  will  go  on  Monday  to 
Maple  Lane.  I  hope  that  you  will  be  a  good  little  girl, 
and  not  get  tired  of  it  in  a  week  or  two." 

"I  hope,  my  dear  niece,"  said  Aunt  Matilda,  "that  you 
will  show  some  proper  pride,  and  not  make  an  acquaintance 
of  everybody  that  you  meet.  You  must  remember  that 
there  are  many  very  common  people  who  go  to  school 
there  ;  no  associates  for  Madeline  Hamilton,  the  heiress  of 
Woodcliff." 

Madeline  put  on  her  mischievous  air  as  she  replied,  "  I'm 
afraid  I  shall  often  forget  that  I  must  act  the  little  prin 
cess  ;  for  when  I  meet  a  right  funny  little  girl,  I  don't 
often  stop  to  ask  who  she  is,  but  I  just  play  with  those  I 
like." 

"  Monday  morning  came  round ;  papa's  summer  carriage 
was  brought  up,  and  Maddy,  with  a  glowing  cheek  and 
dancing  step,  seated  herself  by  her  father's  side.  A  neat 
little  satchel,  and  a  basket  with  a  nice  lunch  pleased  our 
little  girl  mightily,  for  she  had  never  seemed  like  a  scholar 
before. 

Maddy  was  now  about  eleven  years  old — a  bright  ani 
mated  being;  and  when  Mr.  Hamilton  took  her  by  the 
hand,  and  led  her  up  to  the  desk  of  the  principal,  all  eyes 
were  turned  towards  the  shy  little  creature,  who  was  really 
4* 


42  WOODCLIFF. 

abashed  by  the  gaze  of  so  many  young  faces,  all  looking 
with  curious  eyes  upon  the  young  stranger. 

"  I  have  brought  you  my  little  girl,  Mr.  Norton ;  she  is 
my  only  child,  and  quite  a  darling  at  home.  She  has  been 
so  much  petted,  that  I  fear  you  will  find  her  sadly  deficient." 

"  We  have  excellent  teachers,  Mr.  Hamilton,  but  strict 
discipline  ;  I  fear  that  you  may  think  it  too  much  so  for 
your  little  daughter." 

"  We  can  try  it,  Mr.  Norton,  and  if  too  strict,  there  is  an 
easy  remedy.  May  I  ask  in  what  class  she  will  be  placed?" 

"  I  presume  in  Miss  Coming's ;  she  has  the  youngest 
children." 

By  this  time,  Madeline  had  gained  courage  enough  to 
look  around  her,  and  was  delighted  to  greet  Roland  Bruce 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  Finally,  papa  took  leave ; 
Madeline  underwent  examination,  and  was  placed  under 
Miss  Coming's  care.  Her  chief  study  for  the  first  day  was 
faces  and  characters,  for  she  was  a  quick  little  one  nt  the 
latter. 

Maddy  was  much  amused  at  the  pretensions  of  some  of 
the  purse-proud  in  the  neighborhood,  and  inwardly  resolved 
that  none  of  these  would-be-ladies  should  be  among  her 
frie  ds. 

During  the  intermission,  Lizzie  Belton,  a  young  miss  of 
fourteen,  anxious  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  a  Hamil 
ton,  stepped  forward  with  rather  a  patronizing  air,  to  take 
Madeline  out  to  the  play-ground ;  but  the  proud  little  girl 
declined  the  honor,  and  looked  eagerly  around  for  Roland. 

"  I'm  so  glad  that  you  have  come,  Roland,"  said  the  child. 
"  I  don't  know  any  of  these  girls  except  by  name,  and  I 
don't  care  for  them.  They  all  seem  to  think  themselves  so 
grand,  because  they  are  dressed  fine.  I  don't  care  for 
clothes  that  are  too  good  for  a  brisk  race." 

Roland  bad  seen  that  the  child  was  even  rude  to  some 
of  the  girls,  and  said, 

"  Miss  Madeline,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  to 


TOO    PROUD    TO*  BEND.  43 

be  a  little  sociable  with  them?  You  will  have  enemies 
among  them  if  you  do  not." 

"  If  I  can  find  one  real  little  girl,  who  likes  me  for  my 
self  alone,  that  is  the  playmate  for  me.  Bring  your  sister, 
Roland  ;  I'd  rather  play  with  Erne,  than  any  of  the  rest  of 
them." 

"  She  is  not  here  to-day,  Miss  Madeline !" 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Corning,  Roland  ?  1  don't 
think  I  shall  like  hei  very  much ;  she  has  such  a  stern, 
cross  way  of  speaking,  She  need  not  order  me  about ;  I 
can  be  led,  but  I  can't  be  driven !"  and  the  proud  spirit 
flashed  in  Madeline's  expressive  eyes. 

"  Just  obey  the  rules,  and  study  well,  Miss  Madeline, 
and  you'll  have  no  trouble  with  Miss  Corning ;  but  if  you 
don't,  you'll  have  a  hard  time.  Every  one  has  to  mind 
her,  and  you  must  not  try  to  have  your  own  way  here." 

"  Who  is  that  queer-looking  boy  sitting  under  the  tree, 
Roland  ?"  asked  the  child. 

Roland  smiled  as  he  said,  "  Poor  fellow !  he  is  not  very 
smart;  his  name  is  Tony  Willikins;  he  is  an  only  son,  and 
his  father  is  a  very  rich  man,  and  gives  him  everything  he 
wants." 

Just  then  Tony  came  near  where  Madeline  was  seated, 
and  being  an  admirer  of  pretty  little  girls,  he  stopped  be 
fore  her,  and  making  an  attempt  to  bow  by  pulling  his  cap 
suddenly  from  his  head,  and  clapping  it  under  his  arm,  he 
said, 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss?     Please  tell  me  your  name." 

Madeline  burst  out  laughing  at  the  grotesque  figure  that 
stood  before  her,  twisting  his  watch-chain,  and  simpering 
in  such  an  unmeaning  manner. 

"  My  name  is  Mad-cap  Hamilton,"  answered  the  child. 

"  That's  a  queer  name !  I  don't  like  it  much,  Miss.  My 
name  is  Anthony  Willikins ;  my  pop  lives  in  a  great  big 
house ;  we  have  six  horses  and  two  carriages,  and  three 
dogs,  and  a  big  garden,  and  ever  so  many  books,  but  I  can't 


44  WOODCLIFF 

read  any  of  'em  yet;  and  I've  got  a  boat  all  to  myself,  and 
one  carriage  and  two  horses.  Would  n't  you  like  to  take  a 
ride  with  me,  some  day  ?  I'd  like  to  take  you ;  pop  would 
let  me,  I  km  >\\- ;  won't  you  ask  your  pop  to  let  you  go  ?" 

All  this  time  Madeline  was  convulsed  with  laughter,  and 
could  scarcely  answer. 

"  I  don't  think  papa  would  let  me  go,  Tony ;  he  does  not 
like  me  to  go  with  strangers."  'f  4 

Just  then  the  bell  rang,  and  after  a  short  afternoon  ses 
sion,  the  school  was  dismissed,  and  Madeline  went  home 
with  her  tasks  for  the  next  day. 

While  the  novelty  lasted,  duties  progressed  very  well ; 
but  the  old  habits  of  indolence  returned,  and  then  came  the 
warfare  between  Madeline,  the  self-willed,  and  Miss  Corn 
ing,  the  determined. 

"Madeline,  how  is  it  that  you  now  come  daily  unpre 
pared  with  your  lessons  ?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"  I  had  something  else  to  do,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  go  home  without  reciting  them  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Corning  1  I  cannot  learn  them  all  in 
school." 

"  We  will  see,  Madeline !  for  you  can't  leave  the  room 
at  recess,  or  go  home  until  they  are  learned  perfectly." 

Madeline  threw  her  books  aside,  and  sat  with  burning 
cheek  and  flashing  eye,  while  the  tapping  of  her  little  foot 
betrayed  the  tempest  within.  Miss  Corning  said  no  more 
at  that  time. 

Roland  saw  the  storm  that  was  brewing,  and  seating 
himself  near  his  little  friend,  he  whispered : 

"  Do  not  act  so,  Miss  Madeline ;  it  is  very  wrong.  God 
sees  you,  and  you  are  sinning  against  him,  by  not  obeying 
those  who  have  the  rule  over  you." 

Madeline  looked  up  surprised  at  Roland,  wondering  how 
a  poor  boy  could  dare  so  boldly  reprove  her.  But  he  was 
not  at  all  abashed ;  he  knew  that  he  was  right,  and  Made- 


TOO    PROUD    TO    BEND.  45 

line  wrong,  and  he  returned  the  look  of  indignant  scorn 
with  one  of  pity. 

"  How  dare  you  pity  me,  Roland  Bruce  ?  Don't  you 
know  that  I  am  Madeline  Hamilton  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  know  all  that,  and  I'm  very  sorry  for  it, 
for  my  Bible  says  that  '  To  whom  much  is  given,  of  him 
much  will  be  required ;'  Madeline  Hamilton,  therefore,  is 
bound  to  be  a  better,  wiser,  holier  child  than  Bessie  Carter, 
because  she  has  more  advantages." 

Though  Mad-cap  was  so  angry,  she  inwardly  respected 
the  boy,  who  though  so  far  beneath  her  in  social  rank,  had 
the  courage  to  lay  her  faults  plainly  before  her. 

She  sat  however,  still  sullen  and  silent,  and  Roland  said 
no  more ;  recess  had  passed,  and  the  school  duties  were  re 
sumed. 

Miss  Corning  glanced  occasionally  towards  her  refractory 
pupil,  not  at  all  disposed  to  yield  one  inch.  Madeline's 
reflections  were  of  the  most  mortifying  character.  She 
liked  and  respected  Roland  Bruce,  and  now  she  feared  that 
she  had  lost  his  friendship  by  her  bad  conduct;  then  the 
inward  conviction  that  she  was  wrong,  and  must  at  last 
own  it,  was  deeply  humbling  to  her  pride. 

The  afternoon  passed  by,  school  was  dismissed,  and 
Roland  still  lingered.  Walking  directly  up  to  Madeline, 
he  said  in  a  manly  tone : 

"  Miss  Madeline,  you  are  all  wrong ;  just  say  so ;  give 
up  this  rebellion,  and  recite  your  lessons.  I  can't  go  home 
and  leave  you  here  ;  I  would  not  leave  Effie,  and  I  cannot 
leave  you." 

Madeline  was  melting;  for  olie  moment  she  hesitated, 
and  then  turning  with  swimming  eyes,  extended  her  little 
hand  to  Roland,  as  she  said : 

"  You  are  a  true  friend ;  you  have  dared  to  tell  a  spoiled 
child  how  bad  she  is,  and  I  honor  you  for  it.  I  will  study 
all  my  lessons,  if  you  will  only  hear  me  say  them.'' 

Miss  Corning  nodded  assent,  and  Madeline  set  to  work 


46  WOODCL1FF. 

with  a  good  will  to  accomplish  her  task.  Soon  she  mas 
tered  it,  and  it  was  a  curious  sight  to  behold  the  flattered 
and  petted  child  subdued  and  penitent,  looking  in  Roland's 
face  so  timidly,  for  approval  and  encouragement.  Such  is 
the  force  of  a  strong  character,  even  in  a  boy. 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss  Corning/'  said  the  humbled  little 
girl,  "  you  don't  know  how  I  have  been  spoiled  ;  but  I  will 
try  to  be  better  in  future." 

"  You  will  always  find  me  a  friend,  Madeline,  when  you 
do  right,  but  a  severe  judge  when  you  persist  in  wrong," 
was  the  immediate  response. 

"Good-bye,  Roland,"  said  the  child,  as  she  left  the 
school-room  ;  "  don't  think  me  so  dreadfully  bad.  I  am  so 
sorry,"  and  she  wept  bitterly. 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Madeline,  I  am  so  glad  that  you  con 
fessed  that  you  were  wrong ;  it  has  raised  you  so  much  in 
my  regard ;  try  to  do  right,  and  God  will  help  you,  Miss 
Madeline." 

Maddy  had  learned  two  valuable  lessons  on  that  day : 
one,  that  there  were  two  in  the  world  stronger  than  she, 
to  whom  she  must  submit ;  and  the  other,  that  happiness 
follows  a  conquest  over  the  natural  evils  of  a  sinful  heart. 
Her  path  was  smooth  and  pleasant  for  some  time ;  she 
was  studious,  and  improved  rapidly.  Roland  was  her  fast 
friend ;  aiding  her  in  every  difficult  lesson,  and  keeping  a 
constant  watch  over  the  outbreaks  of  her  passionate 
nature. 

Miss  Adams  was  one  of  Roland's  teachers,  and  had  a 
brother  in  school  about  his  age.  George  Adams  was  a 
bright  boy,  but  could  not  compete  with  Roland  Bruce  ;  and 
feelings  of  jealousy,  both  on  the  sister  and  brother's  side, 
were  often  manifested.  A  written  examination  was  to  take 
place,  which  was  to  decide  the  question  of  promotion. 
Ucorge  Adams  and  Roland  were  in  the  same  class,  and  had 
nn  equal  number  of  questions  to  answer  in  grammar,  geo 
graphy,  and  algebra.  Their  desks  were  side  by  side. 


TOO    PROUD    TO    BEND.  47 

Roland  had  carefully  written  out  all  his  answers  •,  and,  as 
he  folded  up  his  manuscripts,  he  said,  with  a  bright  look  : 
"  There,  I  have  not  one  blank,  nor  one  blot,"  and,  closing 
his  desk,  he  prepared  to  go  home.  George  Adams  remained 
behind,  and  Madeline,  having  something  to  do,  tarried  also. 
They  left  the  school-room  together,  and  the  child,  with  her 
accustomed  shrewdness,  observed  that  George  avoided  her 
eye,  and  passed  out  without  speaking. 

Next  morning  was  examination-day — when  Roland's  turn 
came,  his  manuscripts  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  Diligent 
search  was  made,  but  in  vain.  Miss  Adams  arose  and  said : 

"  It  is  very  strange,  Roland ;  no  one  would  take  them 
from  your  desk;  it  looks  very  much  like  deception." 

Roland's  eye  flashed,  as  he  replied: 

"  I  wrote,  them  all  out,  and  placed  them  in  my  desk, 
yesterday  afternoon." 

In  an  instant,  Madeline  Hamilton  was  on  her  feet ;  regard 
less  of  the  presence  of  Mr.  Norton,  the  assistants,  and  some 
of  the  directors,  she  exclaimed,  as  she  pointed  her  finger 
towards  the  guilty  boy: 

"  I  saw  him  open  Roland's  desk — Roland  Bruce  is  not  a 
deceiver ;  there  is  the  deceiver !  I  know  that  he  was  always 
jealous  of  him.  I  watched  him  as  he  passed  along  the  road ; 
he  scattered  pieces  of  paper,  I  picked  them  up,  there  they 
are,"  and  she  handed  them  to  Mr.  Norton.  Madeline's  cheek 
and  eye  were  burning ;  but  fearless,  in  the  defence  of  her 
friend,  she  thought  of  no  one  else. 

"  Madeline  has  always  been  the  champion  of  Roland 
Bruce/'  said  Miss  Adams ;  "  she  certainly  forgets  who  he  is ; 
a  son  of  a  poor  huckster  woman,  who  takes  truck  to  market." 

"  No,  I  do  not  forget,  Miss  Adams,  that  he  is  the  brightest 
boy  in  school,  has  always  been  a  mark  to  shoot  at,  and  that 
there  is  not  one  boy  in  this  school,  half  as  wise  and  good  as 
Roland." 

"Sit  down,  Madeline,"  said  Mr.  Norton;  "this  matter 
shall  be  looked  into.'' 


48  WOODOLIFF. 

The  excitement  had  passed,  and  the  little  advocate,  over 
powered,  bowed  hei  head  upon  her  desk,  and  wept  con 
vulsively. 

Mr.  Norton  examined  the  fragments  of  paper ;  they  were 
all  proved  to  be  Roland's.  George  Adams  was  suspended 
for  dishonorable  practice  ;  and  Roland,  after  another  written 
examination,  promoted  to  the  highest  rank  in  school.  A 
practical  lesson  of  the  truth  of  that  Scripture  which  declares 
that,  "He  who  humbleth  himself  shall  be  exalted,  and  he 
that  «xalteth  himself,  shall  be  abased." 

"  Really,"  said  Lizzie  Belton,  "  I  think  that  Madeline 
Hamilton  makes  a  fool  of  herself  by  the  fuss  she  makes  over 
these  Braces ;  they  are  well  enough  in  their  place,  but  they 
are  no  companions  for  me." 

Lizzie  had  not  forgotten  her  rebuff,  nor,  since  that  time, 
had  she  made  any  progress  towards  intimacy  with  Madeline 
Hamilton. 

After  school,  Roland  hurried  over  to  Madeline. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  made  such  an  enemy,  Miss 
Madeline ;  Miss  Adams  will  not  forgive  you  very  soon.  If 
you  had  only  waited  until  school  was  out ;  it  was  such  a 
public  exposure." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  anything,  Roland,  but  two  people ;  1 
did  not  even  see  any  body  but  Roland  Bruce,  and  that  mean, 
contemptible  George  Adams." 

"  Won't  you  try  to  subdue  some  of  your  quickness,  Miss 
Madeline  ?  I  fear  that  it  will  bring  you  into  trouble." 

"  There  is  no  use,  Roland  ;  I  have  a  hot,  quick  temper, 
and  it  makes  a  hasty  tongue." 

"  You  are  a  warm  little  friend,  and  I  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  to  one  so  humble  as  I,  for  I  am  nothing  but  the  son 
of  a  very  poor  woman,  who  has  to  struggle  hard  to  find  her 
children  bread." 

"  Just  to  think  of  that  Miss  Adams,  calling  your  mother, 
your  good  mother,  a  low  huckster  woman." 

"  I  know  that  she  is  not,  and  I  pitied  Miss  Adams  when 


TOO    PROUD    TO   BEND.  49 

she  made  such  a  speech  before  her  scholars ;  for  she  hurt 
herself  more  than  the  did  my  dear,  precious  mother." 

"  Don't  I  wish,  Roland,  that  you  would  live  to  be  a  great 
man  ;  wouldn't  they  all  be  ashamed  of  themselves  ?" 

"  Don't  be  troubled,  Miss  Madeline,  I  am  trying  all  that 
I  can  to  be  a  learned  and  good  man ;  and  I  know  that  God 
will  take  care  of  me  if  I  am  His  child,  and  I  humbly  hope 
that  I  am." 

"  When  you  are  a  great  man,  you  shall  come  right  down 
here  among  them,  and  make  grand  speeches ;  and  won't  I 
be  glad  to  see  them  all  bowing  to  Mr.  Roland  Bruce,  the 
poor  widow's  son." 

Roland  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  little  enthusiast, 
for  he  was  but  sixteen  now,  and  many  a  weary  year  must 
pass  away,  and  many  rugged  hills  be  scaled,  ere  he  should 
figure  as  a  great  man  among  the  people  of  Maple  Lane 
school. 


CHAPTER    Y. 

YOUTHFUL   VISIONS. 

A  NEST  of  rocks  standing  out  upon  the  ocean,  around 
which  the  waves  dash  with  mournful  measure,  is  one  of 
the  most  inviting  retreats  for  the  people  around  Woodcliff. 

On  this  bright  summer  afternoon,  a  beautiful  dreamer  sits 
upon  its  summit,  with  eyes  turned  upward  on  the  rapidly 
changing  clouds.  Ever  and  anon,  a  smile  passes  over  the 
young  face,  as  some  bright  thought  flits  through  the  teem 
ing  fancy. 

"Down,  Hector,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  the  child; 
but  the  dog  continued  barking  and  wagging  his  tail,  as  he 
ran  down  the  side  of  the  rock,  and  bounded  along  the 
beach. 

Madeline  soon  saw  that  her  young  friend  Roland  was 
coming  towards  them,  with  whom  Hector  was  well 
acquainted. 

"  Come  up,  Roland,  it  is  perfectly  splendid,"  exclaimed 
the  little  girl,  and  soon  she  was  joined  by  her  young  com 
panion. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  and  help  me  watch  the  clouds.  1 
don't  know  if  you  can  see  as  I  do,  but  there  is  everything 
that  is  beautiful  this  afternoon." 

"  Look  there,  Roland !  see  that  white-winged  angel  sail 
ing  along  so  softly ;  but  it  is  fading — it  is  all  gone — it 
seemed  to  wave  its  hand  to  us,  bidding  us  farewell.  Oh  1 
look  there  at  that  group  of  clouds ;  there  are  soldiers,  and 
banners,  and  spears  flashing — don't  you  see  that  flag 
waving  so  grandly  ?  Now  just  see,  Roland,  the  flag  has 
(50) 


YOUTHFUL   VISIONS.  51 

turned  into  a  long  fish  with  wings — now  don't  laugh  at  me, 
Roland."  . 

Roland  could  not  but  smile  at  her  wild  fancies,  and  re 
plied, 

"  I  ought  not  to  laugh  at  you,  Miss  Madeline,  for  many 
a  beautiful  picture  have  I  seen  on  the  clouds,  and  many  an 
odd  one  in  the  winter  fire." 

"  Don't  call  me  Miss  Madeline,  Roland ;  we  go  to  the 
same  school ;  I  am  younger  than  you,  and  I'm  sure  that 
you  are  a  great  deal  wiser  and  better  than  I.  It  sounds  so 
stiff;  call  me  Madeline,  or  Maddy." 

"  I'm  only  a  poor  boy,  very  far  beneath  you,  Miss  Made 
line,  and  I  don't  think  I  can  take  the  liberty,''  answered 
Roland. 

"  Well,  I  won't  answer  you,  Roland.  If  my  father  is  a 
rich  man,  I'm  only  a  little  girl." 

"  Look  there,  Madeline !  that  is  a  very  black  cloud.  I 
think  that  we  shall  soon  have  a  storm." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  a  storm ;  I  rather  like  to  see  the 
lightning  flash,  and  to  hear  the  distant  thunder ;  but  I  don't 
much  like  the  thoughts  of  being  wet." 

The  clouds  thickened  rapidly ;  thunder  began  to  rumble 
in  the  distance,  and  some  large  drops  fell  around  them. 

"  Had  we  not  better  turn  our  steps  homeward  ?"  asked 
Roland. 

"  I  think  not,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "  I  have  a  fancy  for 
seeing  this  storm." 

"  Is  there  any  shelter,  Madeline  ?" 

"  Yes,  there  is  an  old  fisherman's  hut  among  the  next 
nest  of  rocks.  We  can  go  there." 

Quickening  their  pace,  Roland  took  Madeline's  hand,  and 
hurried  her  rapidly  along,  for  the  wind  was  now  blowing 
at  a  fearful  rate. 

They  were  soon  sheltered  in  old  Peter's  cabin,  and  the 
children  stood  at  the  door,  watching  the  storm.  It  was  a 
grand  sight,  but  not  more  so  than  the  little  enthusiast,  who 


52  WOODCLIFF. 

stood  with  parted  lips,  eves  turned  upward,  and  her  long 
ringlets  waving  wildly  in  the  wind,  gazing  entranced  on 
the  war  of  the  elements*,  and  looking  the  very  genius  of  the 
ocean.  The  waves  dashed  in  foaming  spray  against  the 
rocks ;  the  sea  gulls  in  large  flocks  flew  low  down,  skim 
ming  the  white  caps  of  the  crested  billows,  which  chased 
each  other  out  on  the  stormy  ocean,  the  birds  screaming  as 
if  inspired  by  the  spirit  of  the  storm.  The  lightning 
flashed,  the  thunder  roared,  and  the  rain  now  fell  in  tor 
rents.  Poor  Hector  was  sadly  frightened,  and  cowering  at 
Madeline's  feet,  continued  whining  so  ;>ng  as  the  storm 
lasted. 

It  raged  furiously  for  one  hour.  When  it  subsided,  the 
sun  once  more  appeared  in  his  setting  glory,  shining  on 
the  still  falling  rain  drops,  painting  a  rainbow  on  the  clouds 
which  spanned  the  ocean.  Further  up  the  beach,  the  town 
of  L lay  in  the  sunlight,  and  reflected  on  the  window- 
panes,  the  whole  town  glittered  as  though  each  house  was 
decked  with  diamonds. 

Madeline  clapped  her  little  hands  with  delight.  "  Was 
there  ever  anything  so  beautiful  ?" 

"  Look,  Maddy  !"  said  Roland,  "  at  those  clouds  piled  up 
so  grandly ;  they  look  like  the  snow-clad  Alps  that  hang  in 
your  father's  library." 

"See  how  the  sun  glistens  on  the  top  of  them,  Roland  ; 
it  looks  just  as  if  the  light  came  right  down  from  the  palace 
in  the  skies,  and  as  if  the  angels  stood  in  crowds  on  the 
mountain  tops,  looking  down  upon  us." 

"  We  don't  know,  Maddy,  how  many  of  the  shining  ones 
may  be  there ;  for  the  Bible  tells  us  that  they  are  minis 
tering  spirits,  sent  down  to  minjster  to  God's  people." 

"  Look,  Roland,  at  that  bird ;  it  seems  to  fly  right  round 
the  top  of  that  mountain-cloud.  See  how  its  white  breast 
shines  in  the  sunlight!  Did  you  ever  wish  you  were  a 
bird  ?  Would'nt  I  like  to  see  as  much  as  that  bird  sees 
now,  so  far  above  the  earth." 


YOUTHFUL    VISIONS.  53 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  mountain,  Maddy  ?"  inquired 
Roland. 

"No,  I  have  not;  I  have  often  looked  at  papa's  pictures, 
and  wished  that  I  could  climb  up  one  of  the  mountains  of 
Switzerland." 

"  I  have  seen  mountains,  Maddy,  so  grand !  so  dark ! 
so  rugged  !  I  suppose  that  the  mountains  of  Scotland  are 
not  so  beautiful  as  those  of  Switzerland ;  they  are  so  dark 
and  gloomy,  and  those  deep  ravines  .which  lie  among  them 
are  so  terrible.  I  have  walked  there  after  sunset,  and 
heard  the  thunder  echoing  from  cliff  to  cliff,  while  the  wild 
birds  screamed  as  they  flew  to  their  mountain  eyry." 

"  Were  you  not  afraid,  Roland,  to  be  there  all  alone  ?" 

"  I  was  not  alone,  Maddy,  my  uncle  used  to  take  me, 
for  I  was  a  little  boy ;  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  fear 
which  I  have  felt  among  those  heather-clad  mountains ;  I 
used  to  cling  so  tightly  to  his  hand,  for  I  was  filled  with 
solemn  awe." 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  a  mountain,  Roland?" 

"  I  dare  say  that  by-and-bye  your  father  will  show  you 
all  these  wonders." 

"  How  long  since  you  were  in  Scotland,  Roland?"  asked 
Madeline. 

"  It  is  now  seven  years.  My  father  was  a  very  sad, 
strange  man,  Maddy,  and  he  took  a  sudden  fancy  to  come 
over  to  America;  my  mother  was  a  minister's  daughter, 
her  name  was  Mary  Gordon  ;  she  lived  with  my  grandfather 
at  the  manse  even  after  she  was  married." 

"  What  is  a  manse,  Roland  ?" 

"  A  manse  is  a  Scotch  name  for  a  parsonage ;  it  was  a 
pleasant  little  home,  situated  in  a  hamlet,  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountains,  not  far  from  my  grandfather's  kirk." 

"  What  is  a  kirk,  Roland  ?» 

"A  kirk  is  a  Scotch  name  for  a  church.  There  was  a 
lake  not  far  from  our  house,  and  many  a  time  did  Uncle 
Alick  take  us  children  out  in  the  boat;  sometimes  we 
6* 


54  WOODCLIFF. 

would  cross  the  lake,  and  pay  visits  to  our  neighbors. 
Once  he  told  me  that  he  was  going  to  show  me  a  place 
that  I  must  never  forget ;  he  said  that  we  should  be  gone 
all  day;  so  my  mother,  Effie,  Uncle  Alick  and  I  started 
with  our  little  basket  of  provisions.  "We  crossed  the  lake, 
and  made  our  way»up  the  sides  of  the  mountain  ;  at  length, 
we  commenced  descending,  and  soon  found  ourselves  in  a 
thickly  shaded  glen,  covered  with  a  heavy  sward  of  rich 
green  grass.  We  stopped  under  a  large  old  tree,  and  after 
we  had  been  seated  awhile  in  silence,  my  mother  said : 
'  Roland,  do  you  see  that  old  ruin  behind  that  clump  of 
trees  ?'  '  I  see  a  pile  of  stones  and  an  old  chimney, 
mother,'  I  replied.  '  There  lived  our  ancestor,  the  old 
pastor  of  Glencoe.  His  name  was  David  Gordon  ;  he  lived 
in  those  dreadful  days  when  men  were  hunted  like  wild 
beasts  for  conscience'  sake — your  great  ancestor  was  a  holy 
man,  and  had  bound  his  soul  by  the  solemn  "  League  and 
Covenant,"  not  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  the  English 
Church.  He  was  the  father  of  a  large  family,  and  was  a 
faithful  shepherd  of  the  flock  of  Christ.  Many  a  tinje, 
when  those  bloody  troopers  were  in  hot  pursuit,  did 
this  aged  man  of  God,  at  the  head  of  his  little  flock  of 
parishioners,  sally  out  at  night,  marching  over  the  wild 
moors  and  up  the  steep  mountain  sides,  seeking  shelter  in 
the  caves  of  these  old  hills.' 

"'Who  was  king  then,  mother?'    I  inquired. 

" '  Charles  the  First ;  and  who,  though  a  good  husband 
and  father,  was  a  bigoted  and  tyrannical  king.' 

"  '  Did  he  hurt  God's  people  ?'    I  asked. 

"  '  He  let  his  soldiers  persecute  and  kill  them.  Their 
blood  cried  to  Heaven  against  him,  and  deeply  were  they 
avenged.' 

"  '  Then  I'll  never  love  the  Church  of  England,  mother,' 
and  my  little  heart  burned  within  me.  '  But,  mother,  you 
were  going  to  tell  me  a  story.' 

" '  Yes,  Roland,  I  want  to  show  you  how  strong  the  old 


YOUTHFUL    VISIONS.  55 

pastor  of  Glencoe  was  when  called  to  suffer  for  God.  One 
day,  his  eldest  son,  Gilbert,  had  gone  away  from  home  on 
an  errand  that  would  bring  him  back  late  in  the  evening ; 
and  David  Gordon,  his  wife,  and  granddaughter,  Lilian, 
were  left  at  home.  Suddenly,  they  heard  the  sound  of 
horses'  hoofs,  and  they  knew  that  their  day  had  come.  In 
a  very  few  minutes,  a  company  of  troopers  appeared  in  the 
green  before  the  manse ;  dismounting,  they  fastened  their 
horses  to  the  neighboring  trees ;  the  captain,  entering  the 
manse,  dragged  old  David  Gordon  from  his  study,  and  bade 
him  prepare  for  death. 

"  '  Down  on  your  knees,  you  old  canting  hypocrite  !'  said 
the  hardened  man;  'you  have  but  a  minute  to  prepare  for 
death.' 

" '  Just  let  me  hae  a  few  minutes  for  prayer,'  said  the 
old  Christian ;  and,  kneeling  down,  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
Heaven,  while  his  white  hair  floated  in  the  cool  breeze, 
and  ought  to  have  softened  the  hearts  of  those  cruel  men. 

"  '  In  another  minute  his  faithful  wife,  the  companion  of 
fifty  years,  knelt  by  his  side. 

" '  I  am  wi'  ye,  David,  whatever  is  yer  fate ;  I  will  be 
wi'  ye ;  and  the  blessed  Saviour,  who  strengthened  the 
martyr  Stephen,  will  stan'  by  his  weak  disciples.' 

"  '  Hold  your  clatter,  you  old  beldame  ;  see  if  your  God 
will  come  to  save  you  from  the  bullets  when  they  are 
sent.' 

"  '  How  lang,  0  Lord !  holy  an'  true,  shall  the  wicked 
triumph  ?'  breathed  out  old  David.  '  Wilt  thou  leave  us 
forever?  hae  mercy,  0  Lord!  upon  our  enemies;  turn  the 
heart  o'  Charles  Stuart  to  thysel.' 

"  '  Do  you  dare  to  speak  the  name  of  the  king?'  shouted 
the  trooper,  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the  band  that 
stood  waiting  his  orders. 

" '  Planting  themselves  opposite  to  the  kneeling  pair,  they 
commenced  loading  their  carbines;  and,  just  as  they  pre 
pared  to  fire,  a  young  creature,  not  more  than  sixteen, 


56  WOODCLIFF 

rushed  from  the  manse,  and  throwing  herself  upon  the 
bosom  of  her  grandfather,  stretched  forth  one  pleading 
hand,  exclaiming, 

" '  Oh !  spare  his  grey  hairs ;  he  has  ne'er  harmed  ye  I 
he  has  done  naething  but  guid  a'  the  days  o'  his  life,  an' 
if  ye  kill  him,  his  bluid  will  call  frae  the  ground  against 
ye  at  the  judgment-day.' 

"  '  Take  her  away,'  shouted  the  Captain  ;  '  the  old  parson 
must  die.' 

" '  I  will  na  gae !  I  will  na  leave  my  dear  auld  grandfather ; 
an'  ye  can  na  hae  the  heart  to  kill  us  a','  answered 
Lilian,  in  her  innocent  trust. 

'"Fire,  men!'  shouted  the  Captain,  and  in  another 
minute,  the  sharp  report  of  a  dozen  guns,  echoing  through 
the  glen,  sending  their  deadly  bullets  among  the  kneeling 
group,  released  the  souls  of  the  aged  pastor,  his  faithful 
wife,  and  sweet  Lilian  Gordon,  covered  with  the  blood  of 
her  aged  grand-parents.  She  lay  on  the  green  sward,  and 
even  those  fierce  soldiers  were  touched  when  they  looked 
at  the  pale  face  of  the  beautiful  girl,  around  which  hung 
in  rich  profusion  those  golden  locks,  stained  with  her  life- 
blood,  as  it  oozed  quietly  away. 

" '  She  might  have  gone  away,'  said  one  of  the  troopers; 
'  we  didn't  want  to  kill  her  or  the  old  woman ;  it  was  their 
own  fault.' 

"  'All  this  fearful  scene  had  been  witnessed  by  a  faithful 
servant,  who  had  hidden  herself  in  a  loft,  where,  trembling 
and  overpowered  with  grief,  she" had  seen  and  heard  all. 

" '  When  Gilbert  Gordon  returned  in  the  evening,  what 
was  his  horror  to  see  his  father,  mother  and  only  daughter 
weltering  in  their  blood  on  the  green  sward  in  front  of  the 
manse ! 

"  '  With  the  assistance  of  a  few  mourning  parishioners, 
by  the  light  of  the  pale  moon,  they  dug  a  hurried  grave, 
and  after  a  few  words  of  solemn  prayer  from  the  lips  of 
Gilbert  Gordon,  they  laid  away  the  precious  remains  of  the 


YOUTHFUL   VISIONS.  57 

martyred  dead  in  hope  of  a  joyful  resurrection,  placing  a 
small  board  to  mark  the  place  where  they  slept ;  and  when 
those  troubled  days  were  over,  an  humble  tomb-stone 
marked  the  very  spot  where  they  lay  down  their  lives  for 
Jesus. 

" '  Go,  read  it,  Roland,'  said  my  mother ;  '  and  never 
forget  that  the  blood  of  martyrs  flows  in  your  veins. 
Always  be  strong  for  the  right,  my  son ;  and  remember 
that  you  are  a  Gordon  as  well  as  a  Bruce.' 

"  I  read  the  inscription  on  the  simple  tomb-stone,  partially 
defaced  by  time  ;  the  letters  were  very  faint,  but  I  still 
could  read:  'The  Rev.  David  Gordon;  Janet,  his  wife; 
and  his  granddaughter,  Lilian  Gordon ;  martyred  on  the 
20th  day  of  October,  1643.  They  sleep  in  Jesus.' 

"  Maddy,  I  have  never  forgotten  that  sacred  spot ;  and 
so  deep  was  the  impression  that,  boy  as  I  was,  I  felt  as  if 
my  soul  grew  larger  from  that  day,  and  as  if  I  would 
rather  suffer  anything  than  dishonor  a  name  so  sacred  as 
that  of  Gordon.  I  remember  every  word  my  mother  said. 
I  have  thought  of  the  story  in  the  dark  hours  of  the  night, 
and  have  prayed  that  God  would  give  me  such  a  heroic 
soul  as  David  Gordon's." 

Maddy  listened  to  the  recital,  and  all  the  deep  feelings 
of  her  imaginative  nature  were  stirred  to  their  very  depths. 
She  could  never  again  look  upon  Roland  Gordon  Bruce 
with  any  other  feelings  than  those  of  deepest  veneration  ; 
for,  boy  as  he  was,  and  poor  as  he  was,  was  he  not  a 
descendant  of  martyrs  ?  and  as  much  of  a  hero  in  her 
young  fancy,  as  though  he  had  figured  himself  upon  that 
bloody  sward,  and  as  though,  instead  of  occurring  in  1643, 
it  had  been  an  event  of  yesterday. 

The  sWy  had  ended — returning  to  the  rock,  they  took 
their  seat  once  more  upon  its  summit.  The  storm  had  all 
passed  away ;  the  gulls  were  flying  to  their  nests,  their 
white  breasts  glistening  in  the  bright  sunlight  that  now 
flooded  the  waters. 


58  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Maddy,  I  do  think  that  I  like  storms  better  than  calms. 
I  like  everything  that  brings  the  grandeur  of  God  before 
me ;  there  is  a  voice  within,  Maddy,  that  answers  to  the 
music  of  a  storm." 

"  I  never  could  tell  just  how  it  was,  Roland,  but  I  often 
think  just  as  you  do,  only  I  never  could  speak  it  in  words." 

"  Maddy,  our  talk  to-day  has  brought  back  my  home  in 
Scotland ;  and  it  makes  me  feel  sad  to  think  that  I  am  so 
far  away  from  the  land  that  I  love.  You  ought  to  hear 
some  of  our  music,  it  is  so  beautiful." 

"Won't  you  sing  me  one  of  the  songs  that  you  like, 
Roland?" 

"Will  you  try  to  sing  one  with  me,  Maddy?" 

"  Yes,  I  would  if  I  only  knew  one." 

"  I  will  teach  you  one,  Maddy,  if  you  will  try-.— I  know 
that  you  will  like  it ;"  and  Roland  dictated  the  words  of 
the  following  Scotch  song: 

"  Scots,  wha  hae  wi  Wallace  bled ! 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  often  led ! 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 

Or  to  victorie ! 

•Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour: 
See  the  front  of  battle  lour : 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Chains  and  slavcric ! 

''Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave? 
Wha  can  fill  a  cowarcr's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 

Let  him  turn  and  flee  !"  &c. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

A    SCOTCH    MATRON. 

MRS.  BRUCE  had  seen  many  sorrows.  She  had  married 
Stephen  Bruce  chiefly  to  please  her  father. 

Early  in  life  she  had  been  betrothed  to  Malcolm  Graham, 
a  *y°ung  man  of  excellent  character,  who  dearly  loved 
sweet  Mary  Gordon.  She  had  another  suitor,  Stephen 
Bruce,  the  son  of  her  father's  most  intimate  friend;  this 
was  the  one  preferred  by  her  parent. 

Malcolm  went  to  sea;  the  vessel  foundered,  and  his 
name  was  among  the  missing.  Mary  pined  away  for  two 
years  in  sadness  and  sorrow ;  at  length,  to  please  her 
father,  she  accepted  the  hand  of  Stephen  Bruce,  and  made 
him  a  faithful  wife. 

When  Roland  was  about  one  year  old,  one  stormy 
winter  evening,  Mary  was  rocking  her  child  to  sleep,  sing 
ing  a  sweet  cradle  hymn,  when  the  door  of  the  manse 
opened  suddenly,  and  Malcolm  Graham,  her  early  lover, 
stood  before  her.  A  scene  of  agony  passed — they  parted 
in  sorrow. 

Stephen  Bruce,  on  discovering  that  Malcolm  was  still 
alive,  became  morose,  jealous,  and  at  last  unkind.  After 
the  birth  of  Effie,  he  suddenly  embarked  for  America, 
where  he  lived  with  his  family  for  several  years.  At 
length,  he  returned  to  Scotland  on  business ;  the  vessel 
in  which  he  sailed  for  America  was  wrecked,  and  nothing 
was  ever  heard  of  Stephen  Bruce. 

In  Mrs.  Bruce's  neighborhood  lived  a  strange  woman, 
named  Elsie  Gibson,  a  Scotch  woman,  who  had  also  lived 
several  years  in  America.  „ 

(59) 


60  WOODCLIFF. 

She  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  widow's  cottage,  and 
exhibited  a  mysterious  interest  in  all  their  affairs.  Soon 
after  the  wreck  of  the  vessel  in  which  Stephen  had  sailed, 
she  presented  herself  at  the  cottage. 

"  I  came  to  ask  for  the  bairns,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  said  Elsie. 
"We  are  baith  Scotch  people,  and  I  kenned  aboot  the 
Gordons  in  the  auld  country.  Dinna  think  me  officious ; 
are  the  bairns  weel  provided  for  ?" 

"  Stephen  had  a  good  support,  Elsie,  but  it  will  be  some 
time  before  I  can  hear  from  home ;  then  I  shall  know  what 
is  to  be  done." 

Elsie  was  a  strange,  solitary  woman,  associating  with 
no  one  but  Mary  Bruce.  Sometimes  they  would  miss  her 
from  the  neighborhood  for  weeks,  then  suddenly  she  would 
make  her  appearance,  always  exhibiting  the  same  interest 
in  the  Bruce  family. 

In  about  four  months  after  Stephen's  disappearance,  a 
package,  directed  to  Mrs.  Bruce  in  an  unknown  hand,  was 
left  at  the  cottage  door  by  a  little  boy,  who  as  quickly  dis 
appeared.  It  was  found  to  contain  fifty  pounds,  saying 
that  the  same  would  come  quarterly  from  her  husband's 
estate. 

Mrs.  Bruce  was  amazed.  How  could  it  have  come  to 
her  ?  Why  did  she  not  receive  letters  from  Scotland  ?  It 
was  evidently  not  a  foreign  letter.  She  could  not  fathom 
the  mystery.  On  the  following  day  Elsie  paid  her  accus 
tomed  visit.* 

"  How  fare  the  bairns,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?    Where  is  Roland  ?" 

When  be  stepped  forward,  Elsie  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
head  and  said,  with  deep  emotion, 

"  God  bless  you,  my  bairn,  ye're  the  vera  image  o'  yer 
father." 

"  Did  you  know  my  father,  Elsie  ?"  asked  the  boy,  sur 
prised. 

Elsie  seemed  to  recover  herself  in  a  minute,  and  replied, 
coldly,  "  I  hae  ^pen  him,  Roland." 


A    SCOTCH    MATRON.  61 

This  time  her  visit  was  a  short  one,  and,  as  she  left  the 
house,  Mrs.  Bruce  said  to  her  children,  "  Elsie  is  a  strangn 
woman ;  I  wonder  what  makes  her  think  so  much  of  us?" 

Next  evening  she  called  again.  They  were  all  seated  in 
the  little  porch  enjoying  the  cool  evening  air. 

"There,  mother!"  said  Effie,  "is  the  boy  that  brought 
the  package." 

"  What  package  ?"  asked  Elsie. 

"A  strange  thing  happened  day  before  yesterday,  Elsie 
A  little  boy  called  towards  evening  and  left  a  note,  in  an 
unknown  hand,  enclosing  a  remittance  of  fifty  pounds  from 
my  husband's  estate." 

Roland  was  by  this  time  running  after  the  boy,  calling 
to  him  to  stop ;  but  he  was  too  quick,  and  disappeared  in 
the  woods  close  by. 

Elsie  looked  pleased  and  said, 

"  I  ween  that  Roland  will  na  catch  the  lad,  he  is  a  swift 
little  hare-foot." 

"  Why,  do  you  know  who  toe  is  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"  I  dinna  say  sae,  Mrs.  Bruce." 

Elsie  arose  hastily  and  took  her  leave. 

For  several  years  the  same  mysterious  notes  came 
quarterly,  but  at  last  they  entirely  ceased.  Elsie  Gibson 
had  been  absent  for  months,  and  the  family  were  wonder 
ing  what  had  become  of  their  old  friend,  when,  one  even 
ing,  Roland  spied  the  same  tartan  plaid  which  Elsie  always 
wore,  and  which  distinguished  her  from  all  her  neighbors. 

"Mother,  I  do  believe  that  Elsie  Gibson  is  coming  up 
the  lane,"  exclaimed  Roland,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she 
opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

Elsie  looked  sad  and  careworn.  "  I  maun  sit  me  doon, 
Mrs.  Bruce,  for  I'm  a  weary  body  this  cauld  night,"  and  she 
took  her  seat  near  the  fire. 

"  Where  have  you  been  so  long,  Elsie  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bruce. 

"  I  hae  been  far  awa',  tending  on,  a  sick  friend ;  but  he's 
6 


62  WOODCLIFF. 

better  now — that  is,  better  in  body,  but  sore  stricken  --n 
mind." 

"I  have  had  trouble  too,  Elsie,  since  we  parted.  My 
quarterly  allowance  has  all  stopped,  and  I  must  look  around 
for  means  of  support." 

Elsie  looked  concerned ;  a  deeper  shade  passed  over  her 
pale  features  as  she  replied, 

"  Great  changes  hae  come  owre  me,  Mary,  that  is,  Mrs. 
Bruce.  I  too  hae  lost  the  wee  bit  o'  money  that  I  had,  and 
I  maun  gang  out  to  service." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Elsie,  but  I  hope  you  know  the  blessedness 
of  looking  up  in  the  midst  of  all  the  sorrows  of  this  life ; 
if  we  have  a  home  above,  we  need  not  mind  the  trials  of 
the  way,  they  will  be  very  short  compared  to  the  rest 
beyond." 

"  Sometimes,  Mrs.  Bruce,  I  lose  sight  of  the  promises, 
and  gang  doon  into  the  'Slough  of  Despair;'  then  the 
burden  is  a  heavy  load  to  carry.  But  there  is  a  storm  brew 
ing,  and  I  maun  hurry  awa'." 

Mrs.  Bruce  helped  her  on  with  her  tartan,  shook  her 
hand  warmly,  and  bade  her  look  up  in  the  midst  of  dark 
ness. 

"  Guid-night,  Mrs.  Bruce  ;  may  the  guid  Lord  guide  and 
keep  us  a',  and  prosper  his  poor  servant  in  her  new  home ; 
it  will  na  tak  meikle  to  find  my  claithes,  and  the  rest  shall 
go  to  ane  I  luve  weel ;  that  is  blessed  wark,  Mrs.  Bruce,  a' 
my  puir  life  is  spent  for  that." 

Roland  walked  with  Elsie  to  the  turn  of  the  lane,  and 
as  she  bade  him  "guid  night,"  she  added,  "I  shall  always 
luve  ye  weel,  Roland,  for  the  sake  o'  ane  that's  awa'." 

Roland  returned  wondering  how  it  was  that  they  seemed 
so  constantly  connected  with  Elsie  Gibson  —  some  myste 
rious  links  which  he  could  net  trace,  certainly  bound  them 
together. 

In  a  short  time  Elsie  obtained  a  good  place,  but  with  the 
condition  that  once  a  month  she  was  allowed  to  be  absent 


A    SCOTCH    MATRON.  63 

for  one  day,  returning  the  next;  and  thus  she  had  con 
tinued  for  several  years,  until  we  bring  Madeline  acquainted 
with  the  Bruce  family. 

*  ***** 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Bruce ;  you  are  always  so  busy ; 
don't  you  get  tired  of  working  all  the  time  ?"  asked  Made 
line,  as  she  entered  the  humble  cottage. 

"  It  is  better,  Miss  Madeline,  to  have  too  much  to  do, 
than  too  little.  I  am  never  so  happy  as  when  I  am  fully 
occupied  ;  and  then  I  am  working  for  my  children,  and  that 
is  always  cheerful  work." 

Madeline  looked  around  the  humble  room,  and  thought 
how  neat  everything  looked.  True,  there  was  a  rag-carpet 
on  the  floor,  but  the  simple  furniture  was  well  kept;  the 
tins,  bright  as  silver,  hung  upon  the  wall,  the  family  work 
was  all  done,  and  Mrs.  Bruce  and  Effie  were  busy  with 
their  needles. 

Effie  was  a  mild,  gentle  girl,  with  a  pale  complexion, 
light  hair,  and  very  soft  blue  eyes,  resembling  her  mother, 
only  not  so  lovely^as  Mrs.  Bruce  had  been  in  her  youthful 
days.  It  was  her  delight  to  lessen  her  mother's  cares,  for 
she  had  a  heavy  burden  to  carry;  but  the  devotion  and 
love  of  her  children  was  a  sweet  cordial  to  an  aching  heart. 

Madeline  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  by  the  side  of  Mrs. 
Bruce,  and  throwing  off  her  flat,  opened  a  little  basket 
which  she  had  brought  with  her. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  offended,  Mrs.  Bruce,  but  I've 
brought  you  some  very  nice  tea  and  coffee  that  papa  has 
just  received  from  Boston  ;  there  is  some  white  sugar,  and 
some  rice,  too.  I  hardly  knew  how  to  bring  it,  for  you  are 
not  like  the  other  people  that  live  in  the  cottages  round 
here  ;  but  I  hope  that  you  will  not  be  hurt  at  me ;  we  have 
so  much,  and  I  know  that  you  have  so  little." 

Mrs.  Bruce  dropped  her  head  lower  down  to  hide  the 
tears  that  would  start  as  she  replied,  "  We  Scotch  people 
have  a  great  horror,  my  dear,  of  receiving  anything  but 


64  WOODCLIFF. 

what  we  work  for;  but  I'll  take  the  little  gift  to  please  you, 
Miss  Madeline." 

"  I  am  so  glad,  for  I  was  so  afraid  that  I  was  not  doing 
exactly  what  would  please  you,  that  I  really  trembled  when 
I  got  to  the  door.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  from  the 
first  day  that  I  saw  Roland  on  the  shore,  I  knew  that  he 
was  not  a  common  ooy." 

Hanging  between  the  windows  was  a  small  portrait  of  a 
venerable  man. 

"  Whose  likeness  is  that,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?"  asked  the 
child. 

"  That  is  my  father's  picture.  He  was  the  minister  of 
the  parish  where  we  lived.  He  was  a  good  man,  Miss 
Madeline,  but  he  is  now  among  the  spirits  of  the  just  made 
perfect." 

"How  is  it,  Mrs.  Bruce,  that  you  and  Roland  seem  to 
think  so  much  of  the  world  to  come  ?  I  never  used  to 
hear  anybody  talk  about  it  until  I  met  you." 

"  Why,  my  dear  child,  what  should  I  do  with  all  my 
cares  and  sorrows,  if  I  had  no  hope  of  a  better  life  than 
this  ?" 

"I  don't  want  any  better  world,  Mrs.  Bruce.  I  have 
everything  that  I  wish,  and  more  too.  This  world  is  very 
beautiful  to  me ;  I  should  not  like  to  leave  it  and  go  down 
"into  the  dark  grave." 

"  That  is  the  natural  feeling  of  a  young  heart,  Miss 
Madeline,  but  the  day  will  come  when  you  cannot  live 
without  such  a  hope." 

"  I  don't  have  many  cares,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  said  Maddy, 
with  a  mischievous  twinkle  of  her  eye.  "  I  am  puzzled  a 
little  about  the  pattern  of  my  doll's  bonnet,  but  the  greatest 
trouble  just  now  is,  that  papa  has  brought  down  a  French 
governess  to  teach  me  French  and  music.  That  is  not  very 
pleasant,  for  it  takes  so  much  of  my  time  out  of  school  that 
I  get  tired  to  death." 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  thankful,  Miss  Madeline,  to  your 


A   SCOTCH    MATRON.  65 

father  for  all  his  kindness  and  care.  I  hope  that  you  will 
improve  your  time  diligently." 

"  You  ought  just  to  see  Mademoiselle  Fouladouxj  she  is 
such  a  queer  little  person.  I  tell  you  that  I  have  fun  with 
her ;  she  speaks  broken  English,  and  makes  such  odd  faces 
when  she  talks.  She  has  a  little  lap-dog  named  Fanfan ; 
she  makes  as  much  fuss  with  her  as  if  she  were  a  child  — 
nasty,  cross  little  thing  it  is!  She  must  have  sponge-cake 
and  cream  twice  a  day.  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Bruce,  our  cook 
gets  mad  enough.  I  wish  the  little  cur  was  in  the  ocean. 
What  do  you  think?  she  sleeps  in  the  bed  with  Mademoi 
selle  !  Just  think  of  that !  a  dog  in  the  same  bed  with  a 
lady!"  and  Madeline  threw  herself  back,  and  laughed 
heartily  at  the  thought. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  tease  Mademoiselle,  Miss  Made, 
line  ?"  answered  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"  Tease  Mademoiselle  !  Not  much !"  answered  the  child, 
with  a  roguish  smile  upon  her  dimpled  face.  "  Only  when 
she  gives  me  a  hard  lesson,  I  give  her  a  hard  one  back  by 
pulling  Fanfan's  tail,  or  boxing  her  ears  slily ;  and  then 
Mademoiselle  rolls  up  her  eyes,  and  cries  out,  '  Oh !  ma 
petite  mignon,  ma  pauvre  petite  Fanfan !'  and  then  she 
takes  up  the  horrid  thing,  with  its  sore  eyes,  and  kisses  it. 
Just  think  of  kissing  a  lap-dog." 

"  Try  to  be  a  good  girl,  Miss  Madeline;  it  is  a  hard  task 
for  a  young  lady  that  has  a  good  home  to  go  out  to  teach. 
If  you'll  only  think  of  that,  I  am  sure  that  you  will  be  kind 
to  Mademoiselle !" 

"  I'm  not  a  good  girl,  Mrs.  Bruce.  I'm  not  used  to 
thinking  whether  a  thing  is  right  or  wrong ;  nobody  ever 
said  much  to  me  about  it  but  Roland.  I  am  sorry  to  be 
bad  when  it  grieves  Roland,  for  he  is  such  a  good  boy.  I 
do  believe  that  he  is  a  Christian.  Where  is  he  to-day,  Mrs. 
Bruce  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  to  market  with  the  vegetables;  he  always 
6* 


66  WOODCLIFF. 

goes  on  Saturday,  for  he  saves  his  mother  all  the  labor  that 
he  can." 

"  How  does  he  go  ?  Has  he  a  little  cart  ?"  asked  Made 
line. 

"  One  of  the  neighbors  lends  him  an  old  cart  and  horse, 
that  is  too  old  to  be  used  by  the  family ;  but  it  makes 
Roland  feel  badly,  because  he  is  afraid  that  the  poor  horse 
is  too  old  to  work." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  live  on,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?" 

"No,  my  dear,  I  sew  and  knit  for  several  of  the  neigh 
bors." 

"I  think  we  can  send  you  some  work.  Aunt  Matilda 
often  wants  some  one  to  do  plain  sewing." 

Mrs.  Bruce  loved  the  warm-hearted  little  girl,  and  pitied 
her  motherless  condition.  She  saw  countless  weeds  spring 
ing  up  in  the  heart  of  the  child,  and  resolved  to  try  to 
scatter  seeds  of  truth  around  her. 

"  What  are  you  making,  Effie  ?"  inquired  Madeline. 

"  I  am  making  a  shirt  for  George  Belton,  Miss  Madeline 
I  made  two  last  week." 

"  Why,  how  in  the  world  did  you  do  that,  Effie  ?  go  to 
school  every  day,  learn  your  lessons,  and  make  two  shirts  !'* 

"  I  rise  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  sew  two  hours 
before  school ;  I  study  as  much  as  I  can  in  school ;  and  I 
sew  all  my  leisure  time." 

"  That's  what  makes  you  look  so  pale,  Effie ;  what  a  pity 
that  you  have  to  work  so  hard  1" 

"  I  don't  feel  it,  Miss  Madeline  ;  my  mother  has  been  so 
good  and  kind  to  me,  that  I  am  only  too  glad  to  help  her 
now."  And  Effie's  blue  eyes  were  turned  upon  her 
mother's  face,  with  a  look  full  of  filial  love. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  now.  I  learn  good  lessons  here,  Mrs. 
Bruce ;  you'll  let  me  come  and  see  you  often — may  I  ?" 

"  You  are  always  welcome,  Miss  Madeline,  for  I  love 
you  for  your  goodness  to  my  dear  children." 

"  Good-bye,  ma'am ;"   and  Madeline  Hamilton  touched 


A    SCOTCH    MATRON.  67 

the  hand  of  Mrs.  Bruce  with  more  real  respect,  than  she 
felt  for  most  of  the  circle  of  rich  friends  who  visited  at 
Woodcliff. 

"Aunt  Matilda,  don't  you  want  some  plain  sewing 
done  ?"  said  Maddy,  as  soon  as  she  entered  the  house,  for 
her  little  brain  was  teeming  with  plans  of  how  she  might 
do  good  to  the  Bruce  family 

"  I  think  we  do,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  want  some  bed 
linen  made  up ;  our  stock  is  getting  low,  and  I  was  wonder 
ing  whom  I  would  get  to  do  the  work." 

"  Mrs.  Bruce  will  do  it,  aunty  ;  she  is  such  a  nice  woman, 
and  such  a  good  sewer ;  and  then  she  is  so  good,  and  so 
poor." 

"  You  may  tell  her,  Madeline,  to  come  up  to-morrow,  or 
next  day ;  the  work  is  all  cut  out ;  I  should  like  her  to 
have  it." 

Maddy  hurried  off  early  in  the  morning  on  her  errand  of 

love,  tripped   in    se^  merrily,  regardless  of  the  dew  upon 

the  grass,  so  eager  was  she  to  carry  good  news.     Roland 

was  at  home,  and  met  Madeline  with  a  respectful  manner 

that  seemed  very  cold  to  our  little  girl.     Handing  her  the 

.  best  chair,  he  bade  her  sit  down,  for  this  was  the  first  %time 

'that  he  had  ever  welcomed  her  to  his  bumble  home. 

"Aunt  Matilda  wants  you,  Mrs.  Bruce,  to  send  for  the 
work  to-day ;  she  has  it  all  cut  out,  and  want's  you  to  do 
it  all." 

"  I'll  come  up  for  it,  Miss  Madeline,"  answered  Roland ; 
we  are  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  goodness." 

Maddy  began  to  laugh.  "  I  thought,  Roland,  that  we 
made  a  bargain  a  little  while  ago;  have  you  forgotten  that 
you  were  to  call  me  Madeline?" 

"  I  don't  think  that  it  would  be  very  proper  for  one  who 
comes  to  your  house  to  get  work  for  his  mother,  to  take 
such  a  liberty  with  the  heiress  of  Woodcliff." 

"  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  said  the  child,  and  away  she 
ran. 


68  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Mother,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  work  so  hard,"  said 
Roland ;  "  and  then  dear  Effie  looks  so  pale,  her  step  is  so 
languid.  Try,  mother,  to  look  up  to  Heaven,  hoping  and 
trusting;  but  everything  looks  so  dark  around  us." 

"  You  must  not  say  so,  my  son ;  the  promises  of  God 
are  'yea  and  amen  in  Christ  Jesus ;'  we  believe  that  wo 
are  his  children  ;'  '  all  things  shall  work  together  for  good  to 
those  who  love  God ;'  let  us  keep  our  eyes  upward,  my 
dear  boy ;  God  is  there,  Roland — Jesus  is  there — our  home 
is  there." 

"  There  is  not  much  for  us  here,  dear  mother." 

"  Don't  forget,  my  son,  the  blood  that  flows  in  your 
veins,  the  blood  of  Christian  heroes ;  do  not  be  unworthy 
of  them,  Roland.  I  gave  you  to  God  as  soon  as  you  were 
born,  my  child;  I  have  trained  you  for  Him;  He  has 
work  for  you,  my  son  —  I  am  certain  of  that.  Just  trust 
Him ;  look  upward,  Roland,  and  you  will  see  everything 
that  is  noble  and  holy.  Don't  keep"your  eyes  upon  the 
earth ;  that  will  draw  your  soul  downward.  There  is  a 
great  deal  to  live  for,  Roland ;  God  will  lead  you  to  some 
high  and  holy  destiny,  if  you  will  only  trust  Him." 

"Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense,  ^ 

But  trust  him  for  his  grace ; 
Behind  a  frowning  Providence, 
He  hides  a  smiling  face." 

"  You  have  cheered  me,  dear  mother ;  what  should  I  do 
without  you  ?"  answered'  the  boy. 

The  next  morning,  Roland  went  to  Woodcliff  for  the 
work.  Madeline  was  not  at  home,  and  Roland  was  not 
sorry  ;  for  he  felt  that  it  was  humbling  to  be  there  on  such 
an  errand.  The  feeling  was  a  wrong  one,  but  Roland  was 
a  proud  boy,  though  a  poor  one.  There  was  no  little  con 
fusion  in  his  soul  on  that  day.  He  was  performing  a 
filial  duty,  that  he  knew ;  he  was  doing  nothing  that  he 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of,  and  yet  the  pride  of  his  heart  did 


A    SCOTCH    MATRON.  69 

rise  up  against  the  humiliation  of  menial  service,  in  the 
sight  of  Madeline. 

Not  far  from  Roland's  home  lay  the  village  church-yard, 
whither  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  around  often  re 
sorted.  It  was  a  charming  spot,  beautifully  kept,  and 
adorned  with  shrubbery,  fine  trees,  and  a  variety  of  exqui 
site  flowers.  Many  of  Mrs.  Bruce's  lessons  to  her  children 
were  taught  in  that  rural  cemetery  on  Sunday  evening,  after 
the  services  of  the  day  were  over. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  Roland  strayed  thither  alone. 
He  had  not  been  there  long,  before  Madeline  entered,  with 
Hector  for  her  only  companion.  Roland  joined  the  child. 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  place,  Miss  Madeline,"  remarked  the 
boy. 

Maddy  put  her  fingers  on  her  lips  with  rather  an  arch 
expression,  as  she  said: 

"  I  will  not  talk  to  you,  if  you  call  me  Miss." 

Roland  smiled,  and  continued,  '•  Very  well  then,  I  sup 
pose  that  it  must  be  Madeline." 

"  Come  with  me,  Roland  ;  I  want  to  show  you  my 
mother's  grave,"  and  Madeline  led  her  companion  to  a 
secluded  corner  of  the  cemetery,  where  stood  a  splendid 
monument,  on  which  was  inscribed,  "  Sacred  to  the  memory 
of  Julia,  the  beloved  wife  of  Lewis  Hamilton,  who  departed 
this  life  June  16th,  1837."  The  enclosure  was  beautifully 
laid  out  and  adorned  with  choice  flowers,  and  over  the 
monument  bent  the  branches  of  a  noble  tree. 

"  Was  your  mother  a  Christian,  Madeline  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Roland  ;  I  was  too  young  to  remember 
anything;  I  hope  that  she  was." 

"Do  you  ever  think  of  dying,  Madeline?"  asked  her 
friend. 

"  Not  often,  Roland ;  it  is  too  dreadful  to  think  of  the 
dark  and  gloomy  grave.  I  would  rather  think  of  living, 
Roland;  in  this  bright  world." 

"  Mother  never  lets  me  call  it  gloomy,  Maddy ;  she  says 


TO  WOODCLIFF. 

that  it  is  only  the  gate  which  opens  into  heaven ;  and 
since  Jesus  hath  lain  there  himself,  she  says  that  none 
who  believe  in  him  need  be  afraid." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  him,  Roland  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"Yes,  Maddy,  I  do  with  all  my  heart,  and  love  him, 
too ;  and  all  I  want  is  to  serve  him  here  on  earth,  and  live 
with  him  forever." 

"  How  long,  Roland,  is  it  since  you  have  thought  about 
these  good  things  ?"  asked  the  little  girl. 

"  Ever  since  I  was  a  very  little  boy,  Maddy.  I  remem 
ber  when  I  was  so  small  that  I  could  scarcely  talk  plain, 
that  my  mother  used  to  lay  her  hand  upon  my  head,  and 
ask  the  dear  Saviour  to  bless  her  boy.  Then,  when  I  was 
older,  she  used  to  take  me  every  night  to  bed,  and  that 
was  the  time  when  she  led  my  young  heart  up  to  Heaven. 
She  has  had  many  trials,  Maddy ;  but  she  is  always  happy, 
for  she  is  always  looking  up,  and  she  tries  to  make  me  just 
as  hopeful." 

"I  wish  that  I  had  such  a  mother,  Roland;  nobody 
ever  talks  so  to  me.  Aunt  Matilda  taught  me  the  cate 
chism  and  the  creed,  but  it  was  just  like  saying  parrot 
words ;  I  do  not  know  what  they  mean.  I  believe  in 
Jesus,  but  not  the  way  you  do.  I  believe  more  in  Roland, 
I  think !"  and  the  child  smiled. 

"Why;  what  do  you  mean,  Maddy?" 

"  Why  when  I  want  to  do  something  wrong,  I  don't 
ask,  how  would  Jesus  like  it ;  but  I  often  ask,  how  would 
Roland  like  it?" 

"  Just  pray,  Maddy,  every  night,  '  Open  thou  mine  eyes/ 
and  '  Lead  me  to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I.' " 

"  What  is  that  rock,  Roland  ?" 

"  That  rock  is  Christ,  Maddy ;  if  we  keep  our  hearts 
fixed  on  him,  we  shall  walk  in  the  blessed  way  safely." 

While  talking  thus,  Elsie  Gibson  joined  them. 

"  What  are  ye  talking  aboot,  children  ?"  asked  the 
woman. 


A    SCOTCH    MATRON.  71 

"  Roland  was  showing  me  how  to  find  the  blessed  way, 
Elsie." 

"  He  can  lead  you,  Miss  Madeline ;  he  has  a  holy 
mother,  he  is  a  chiel  o'  prayer  ;  and  his  ancestors  were 
maist  o'  them  holy  men.  In  the  bloody  days  that  tried 
men's  souls,  Roland's  race  was  foremost  in  bearing  their 
testimony  to  gospel  truth." 

"  You  like  Roland,  Elsie,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  little  bairn,  I  luve  him  for  his  ain,  and  for  his 
father's  sake.  I  kenned  his  father,  Miss  Madeline,  when 
I  wore  the  snood  o'  a  Scottish  maiden." 

"  Wasn't  his  father  a  relation  of  the  great  Bruce,  Elsie? 
I  have  often  thought  so,  but  Roland  laughs  at  me." 

"  I  dinna  ken,  Miss  Madeline,  for  ye  ken  that  was  mony 
years  syne,  and  we  canna  find  kinship  back  so  far  awa'." 

"  Elsie,  is  Roland's  father  really  dead  ?  sometimes  I 
think  that  he  may  be  alive  yet ;"  asked  the  child  suddenly, 
fixing  an  earnest  look  upon  Elsie  Gibson's  face. 

The  question  was  evidently  unexpected,  but  after  a 
moment's  silence,  Elsie  replied  : 

"  The  vessel  was  lost,  Madeline,  and  it  has  aye  been 
said  that  ilka  soul  went  doon." 

The  shadows  of  the  setting  sun  were  deepening,  and 
Maddy,  Roland,  and  Elsie  walked  together  to  the  widow's 
cottage. 

Mrs.  Bruce  invited  Maddy  in. 

"  Will  you  take  a  seat  among  us  this  evening,  Madeline  ? 
It  is  the  time  of  our  family  worship." 

Maddy  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  by  the  side  of  Mrs. 
Bruce,  much  sobered  by  the  conversation  in  the  cemetery. 

Reverently  the  mother  read  the  sacred  volume,  and 
after  singing  a  Sabbath  evening  hymn,  in  the  words  of 
solemn  prayer,  she  addressed  the  throne  of  grace,  com 
mending  all  her  dear  ones  to  the  care  of  the  Good  Shep 
herd,  not  forgetting  the  little  girl  who  knelt  with  the 
humble  family  around  that  altar  of  domestic  piety.  It 


72  WOODCLIPF. 

was  the  first  time  that  Madeline  had  ever  joined  in  such 
an  exercise,  and  she  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  sweet 
and  soothing  worship. 

It  was  so  different  from  her  own  domestic  circle,  that 
Madeline  could  not  but  muse  deeply  on  her  way  home  ; 
and,  unconsciously  to  herself,  from  this  moment  really 
commenced  the  germ  of  that  life  which,  though  smothered 
for  awhile,  still  the  seed,  perhaps  smaller  than  the  grain 
of  mustard  seed,  was  planted,  which  would  hereafter  lead 
the  warm  young  soul  upward,  heavenward.  Ever  looking 
aloft  was  the  load-star  at  the  widow's  cottage,  around 
which  revolved  all  their  plans,  all  their  hopes.  Perhaps 
wild  little  Mad-cap,  attracted  by  the  same  power,  may 
also  learn  to  look  aloft  from  even  the  dangerous  heights 
of  Woodcliff. 

Effie's  feeble  health  called  for  many  little  comforts  which 
Mrs.  Bruce  could  not  afford ;  but  ever  and  anon  the  trip 
ping  feet  of  Madeline  Hamilton,  or  a  basket  of  delicacies 
brought  by  Nanny,  made  large  demands  upon  the  gratitude 
of  the  widow's  family. 

"  Don't  thank  me,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  Maddy  would  often  say ; 
"  Roland  is  so  good  to  me,  is  so  kind  at  school,  and  teaches 
me  so  much,  that  I  cannot  feel  that  I  ever  do  enough  in 
return  for  you." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  strange  sight  to  behold  this  little  girl, 
usually  so  ungovernable,  yielding  to  the  slightest  check 
from  Roland ;  for  she  really  respected  the  boy,  who  carried 
out  his  principles. 

Occasionally  her  wild  spirits  would  burst  forth,  and  an 
innate  love  of  teasing  led  her  to  play  jokes,  even  upon  her 
friend  Roland.  Fear  of  ridicule  was  his  weakness;  he 
could  not  bear  to  be  laughed  at ;  he  was  almost  ashamed 
to  own  it,  but  it  was  really  a  fact.  Brave  in  other  respects, 
he  was  really  a  coward  here,  and  Maddy  discovered  it. 

Woe  to  Roland,  when  her  mischievous  fits  were  upon 
her! 


A    SCOTCH    MATRON.  73 

"  Who  is  there,  Nanny  ?"  asked  the  child,  perceiving  that 
some  one  was  in  the  hall. 

"  A  boy  wants  to  see  you,  Miss  Madeline  ;  he  has  some 
thing  for  you." 

"  Oh,  Roland,  is  it  you?  come  into  the  parlor." 

Nanny  looked  surprised,  but  Roland  stepped  in,  and, 
taking  off  his  cap,  seated  himself  respectfully.  He  looked 
as  if  he  really  belonged  to  the  parlor  of  Woodcliff;  his 
whole  bearing  was  so  manly  and  self-possessed. 

"  Madeline,  I  have  something  for  you.  You  know  how 
often  we  have  admired  the  sea-weed  together ;  for  a  long 
time  I  have  been  gathering  the  most  beautiful  specimens 
that  I  could  find,  and  mother  has  been  drying  it,  and  to 
gether  we  have  arranged  it  in  a  book." 

Roland  opened  the  pages,  and  Madeline's  joy  was  un 
bounded. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful !  How  did  you  ever  do  it,  Roland  ? 
They  look  like  the  most  lovely  flowers.  Stop,  Roland !  I'll 
get  our  microscope,"  and  away  she  flew. 

"  Look  !  Roland,  look  I  I  never  saw  anything  so  sweet. 
It  is  the  most  charming  present  I  ever  had  in  all  my  life." 

"  I  have  some  shells  too,  Madeline,  but  they  are  not  very 
rare  ;  but  such  as  I  could  gather  I  have  brought.  I  am  so 
glad  that  you  are  pleased." 

"  I  have  nothing  that  I  shall  think  so  much  of  as  these. 
Your  dear,  kind  mother,  with  all  her  cares,  could  remember 
little  Mad-cap;  and,  Roland,  it  was  so  sweet  to  bring  me 
just  what  I  admire  so  much.  I  shall  keep  them  all  the 
days  of  my  life,  to  remember  Roland  and  his  mother." 

It  was  really  an  exquisite  little  book,  arranged  with  the 
most  delicate  taste,  and  when  Aunt  Matilda  was  called  in 
to  see  the  gift,  she  was  quite  struck  with  the  evidences  of 
refinement  visible  in  every  page  of  these  beautiful  sea 
weeds. 

"  I  have  something  else,  Madeline,"  and  Roland  brought 
out  a  tasty  little  moss  basket,  the  gift  of  dear  Effie. 


74  WOODOLIPP. 

That  evening  found  Madeline  running  down  to  the 
widow's  cottage  to  thank  her  for  the  gift. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  darling  Mrs.  Bruce,  for  your  beautiful 
present,"  exclaimed  the  impulsive  child,  throwing  her  arms 
around  her,  and  showering  kisses  upon  her  pale  face.  "I 
shall  keep  it  as  long  as  I  live,  for  I  have  nothing  that  I 
shall  value  like  th.ese  beautiful  weeds." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  pleased,  Madeline ;  it  made  us 
so  happy  to  arrange  them  for  you." 

"  How  could  you  find  time  to  think  of  little  Mad-cap,  with 
all  your  cares  and  troubles,  dear  Mrs.  Bruce  ?" 

"  How  could  you,  Miss  Madeline,  surrounded  by  all  the 
elegance  of  Woodcliff,  find  time  to  think  of  us  in  our  humble 
cottage  ?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    COTTAGE    AND    THE    HALL. 

THERE  are  sorer  battles  than  those  waged  on  the  field 
of  strife,  where  the  old  and  the  new  man  contend  in  a 
human  heart ;  and  such  had  Roland  fought  on  the  morning 
of  this  day.  He  thought  that  he  had  conquered,  and  with 
a  brave  spirit  and  cheerful  countenance,  he  started  for 
Woodcliff  with  the  bundle  of  work  which  his  mother  had 
completed.  When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  Hall  his  courage 
began  to  fail,  for  on  the  porch  were  several  of  Madeline's 
young  acquaintances.  Roland  recognized  "Mary  James, 
Minnie  Scott,  and  Ella  Taylor,  all  schoolmates,  but  who 
had  little  to  do  with  the  Bruces. 

"  What  ails  me  ?"  said  Roland  to  himself;  "  is  it  possible 
that  I  am  so  wanting  in  manliness,  as  to  fear  the  ridicule 
of  those  silly  girls?  Down  at  once  with  the  feeling; 
poverty  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of;"  and  Roland  hastened 
on  with  a  firm  step  and  head  erect. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  heavy  load,  Roland,"  said  Mary 
James ;  "  have  you  garden  truck  in  your  basket  ?" 

"  No,  Miss ;  I  do  not  carry  my  vegetables  around,  we 
sell  them  in  market." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  corning  for  old  clothes,  Roland ;  you 
look  as  if  you  wanted  some,"  remarked  Minnie  Scott. 

"If  you'll  come  round  to  our  house,  we  can  give  you 
some,"  sneered  Mary  James. 

Poor  Roland  was  sorely  tried;  his  clothes  were  very 
shabby,  for  it  had  been  a  long  time  since  his  mother  had 

(75) 


76  WOODCL1FF. 

been  able  to  buy  him  any — patched  pantaloons  and  worn- 
out  shoes  indicated  his  poverty.  His  cheeks  were  crimson, 
and  his  eyes  flashed  indignation,  but  he  took  no  farther 
notice  of  the  insulting  remarks,  or  of  the  titter  which 
passed  round  among  the  girls. 

"  For  shame,  Mary  !"  exclaimed  Madeline  ;  "  have  you 
no  feeling  ?  Roland  is  my  friend,  and  shall  be  respected 
here." 

By  this  time  the  boy  had  advanced  to  the  piazza,  and 
Madeline  called  for  Nanny  to  come  and  take  the  bundles 
which  he  had  brought.  Madeline  then  invited  him  into 
the  house,  and  with  real  delicacy  of  feeling,  made  no  farther 
allusion  to  the  insolence  of  the  children.  They  entered  the 
drawing-room  where  Aunt  Matilda  was  seated. 

"  Aunty,  this  is  my  friend,  Roland  Bruce  ;  he  has  brought 
the  work  home." 

She  bowed  stiffly.  "  Could  you  not  have  taken  the  boy 
into  the  sitting-room,  Madeline  ?" 

"  If  those  upstarts  had  not  insulted  him,  perhaps  I  might 
have  done  so;  but,  as  it  is,  I  prefer  to  bring  him  here." 

Madeline  was  by  this  time  fully  roused.  She  could  not 
endure  that  a  boy  of  Roland's  character  should  be  first 
insulted  by  her  friends,  and  then  by  her  aunt.  Turning  to 
the  latter,  she  said,  "  Will  you  please,  ma'am,  to  entertain 
the  young  ladies  while  I  shall  be  engaged  with  Roland?" 

"  Which  are  your  guests,  Maddy,  this  boy,  or  the  young 
ladies  who  have  come  to  visit  you  ?" 

"  Just  now  this  is  my  guest,  Aunt  Matilda.  There  is  no 
use  of  arguing  with  me,"  and  with  a  proud  toss  of  her 
brown  ringlets,  she  turned  to  the  boy  who  stood  a  silent 
listener. 

"  Come  with  me,  Roland,  I  have  many  things  to  show 
you,"  and  Madeline  led  the  way,  while  Roland  followed, 
by  no  means  abashed  by  the  magnificence  which  every 
where  surrounded  the  young  heiress — velvet  carpets,  lace 
curtains,  rich  furniture,  splendid  paintings,  &c.,  had  no 


THE  COTTAGE  AND  THE  HALL.          77 

effect  upon  the  manly  boy,  who,  with  a  proud  step  and 
dignified  carriage,  followed  his  friend. 

First  she  led  him  to  the  library.  "  I  want  you  to  look 
around,  Roland,  at  the  books ;  here  is  where  I  like  to  come 
on  stormy  days,  when  the  wind  is  howling  around.  Many 
an  hour  I've  spent  in  this  room." 

Roland  looked  around  delighted ;  he  had  never  seen  so 
many  books  together  before. 

"  Why,  Madeline,  I  should  never  want  any  other  friends. 
Here  are  Cowper,  and  Milton,  and  Shakspeare,  and  our 
own  Burns — and  all  these  books  of  history.  You  ought  to 
be  a  very  wise  little  girl." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,  Roland ;  but  I  have  not  read  the 
useful  books ;  I  read  novels,  and  fairy  tales,  and  all  kinds 
of  poetry,  and  aunty  says  they  fill  my  head  with  nonsense. 
Would  you  like  to  read  some  of  these  books,  Roland  ?  for 
I  have  only  to  say  so  to  papa,  and  he  would  lend  them  to 
please  me." 

"  I  could  hardly  ask  such  a  thing,  Madeline,  but  if  he 
will,  I  promise  to  take  good  care  of  them,  and  to  keep  them 
covered." 

Out  of  the  library  into  the  conservatory,  Madeline  con* 
ducted  her  friend.  Here  again  Roland  was  delighted,  for 
dearly  did  he  love  flowers  and  all  beautiful  things. 

"  How  happy  you  ought  to  be,  Madeline,  with  such  a 
world  of  beauty  all  around  you." 

"  Which  of  these  flowers  would  you  rather  take  home, 
Roland?"  asked  the  child. 

His  eye  roved  hastily  around,  and  rested  with  a  smile 
upon  a  simple  purple  flower,  as  he  said,  "  That  little  moun 
tain  heather." 

"What!  pass  by  these  lovely  roses,  and  take  that  little 
flower!" 

"Yes,  Madeline,  I  love  it  best;  it  is  our  own  Scotch 
flower,  and  grows  all  over  our  dark  mountains." 
7* 


78  WOODCLIFF. 

"  You  shall  have  a  plant  to  take  home  to  your  mother, 
Roland." 

Next  she  led  him  up  a  long  staircase  and  directed  him  to 
stand  still  at  the  head  of  the  first  landing;  leading  him  to 
the  window,  she  said,  "  Hark !  Roland,  do  you  hear  any 
music  ?" 

Roland  stood  entranced  as  he  listened  to  the  low,  plain 
tive  strains  that  came  swelling  over  the  strings  of  an 
Eolian  harp,  and  as  the  breeze  rose  higher,  louder,  wilder, 
fuller  swept  the  weird  sounds  among  the  strings. 

"  How  beautiful,  Madeline !"  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  That's  what  I  call  the  fairies'  concert,  Roland ;  on  wild 
winter  nights  you  cannot  imagine  what  that  music  is  like — 
it  puts  me  in  mind  of  Ossian's  poetry." 

Down  the  stair-case  and  out  among  her  pets,  next  we 
find  our  little  girl. 

"  Here  are  my  pet  doves,  Roland ;  Patty  and  Jim ;  they 
know  me  now,  and  always  begin  to  coo  when  I  come  near 
them.  And  here  is  my  canary — but  I  want  you  to  see 
Bob,"  and  out  into  the  stable-yard  trotted  Maddy  and  ran 
up  to  a  donkey  that  stood  nibbling  away  at  some  grass. 
She  patted  him  on  the  head,  and  Bob  made  a  singular 
noise  to  show  his  pleasure. 

Roland  attempted  the  same  liberty,  but  in  a  minute, 
Master  Bob  kicked  up  his  hind  legs,  and  set  up  a  hideous 
bray. 

Maddy  laughed  heartily,  and  said,  "Bob  don't  like 
strangers,  Roland ;  but  that's  the  most  harm  that  he  ever 
does." 

"  They  are  useful  animals,  Madeline.  I  have  often 
thought  that  it  would  be  such  a  treasure  if  I  had  a  cart  and 
donkey ;  but  that  I  cannot  get,  for  we  are  too  poor." 

Maddy  smiled  with  a  knowing  look  as  she  conducted  her 
favorite  back  into  the  drawing-room,  and,  finding  the  coast 
clear,  she  described  the  pictures  to  Roland,  and  then  sat 
down  to  the  piano,  and  played  and  sang  sweetly, 


THE    COTTAGE    AND    THE    HALL.  79 

"  I  remember,  I  remember 

The  house  where  I  was  born — 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 

Came  peeping  in  at  morn ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 

Nor  brought  too  long  a  day  ; 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 

Had  borne  my  breath  away." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Maddy,  for  your  kindness, 
but  I  really  must  go  now ;  I  have  kept  you  long  enough 
from  your  friends,"  and  Roland  took  up  his  pot  of  heather 
to  go  home. 

"  Friends,  indeed !  Fudge  upon  such  friends !  They 
have  no  sense,  and  I  don't  care  for  one  of  them." 

Just  then,  Mademoiselle  put  her  head  into  the  drawing- 
room  door.  "  Oh  !  Mademoiselle  Madeline,  que  fait  vous  ? 
vous  etes  tres  impolie,  voila  vos  jeunes  amis,  et  vous  etes  ici 
avec  ce  pauvre  ga^on." 

"  Do  not  faint,  Mademoiselle,  I  know  what  I  am  about." 

"  Que  dira  Mr.  H.  ?  Lui  qui  est  si  Monsieur.  J'ai  peur 
que  tu  ne  seras  jamais  une  dame  ;  vous  etes  impolie,  M'lle. 
Yenez  avec  moi !" 

Madeline  burst  out  laughing,  and  whispered  to  Roland, 
"  She  is  a  poor  simple  thing ;  I  can't  help  laughing  at  her." 

"  Don't,  Maddy ;  she  is  your  teacher,  and  therefore  ought 
to  be  respected." 

"  That  will  do  for  good  people  like  you  ;  Roland,  I  can't 
be  so  good." 

By  this  time  they  had  left  the  piazza,  and  Madeline  con 
ducted  Roland  out  to  the  gate,  passing  Aunt  Matilda  and 
the  young  ladies  in  the  avenue.  He  raised  his  cap  and 
bowed  gracefully  as  he  took  bis  leave.  "  Good  evening, 
Miss  Hamilton,  I  am  sorry  to  have  intruded  so  long." 

"  Good  evening,  sir,"  replied  the  lady  haughtily. 

"  Where  in  the  world  did  he  learn  to  make  such  a  bow 
as  that  ?"  said  Mary  James. 


80  WOODCLIFF 

"He  was  born  a  gentleman,"  answered  Madeline,  "and 
if  he  were  clad  in  rags,  he  would  carry  the  same  manners 
everywhere." 

"  Don't  talk  such  folly,  Madeline,"  said  her  aunt ;  "  Ro 
land  is  well  enough,  but  he  is  not  a  gentleman,  nor  the  son 
of  a  gentleman,  and  no  associate  for  Madeline  Hamilton. 
You  make  a  dunce  of  yourself,  in  the  way  that  you  behave 
to  these  people." 

"  Perhaps  so,  aunty ;  but  I  shall  nevi  r  forget  that  I  am 
a  lady  to  every  one." 

"  You  forgot  it,  Maddy,  this  afternoon,  when  you  left 
your  young  friends,  to  entertain  that  boy." 

Madeline  blushed  as  she  replied,  "  They  were  so  rude, 
aunty,  that  I  could  do  nothing  else." 

"  Madeline  has  a  remakable  taste,"  said  Ella  Taylor ; 
"Roland  and  Effie  Bruce  are  her  chief  companions  at 
school." 

"  I  choose  them  for  their  worth,  and  because  all  the  rest 
treat  them  badly,"  answered  Madeline. 

"  Well,  we  will  not  talk  any  more  about  it  now,"  said 
Aunt  Matilda ;  "  Maddy  always  has  her  own  way,  and 
there  is  no  use  of  crossing  her  while  Lewis  Hamilton  is 
master." 

******* 

"Papa,  do  you  care  much  about  my  donkey?"  said 
Maddy  that  evening  to  her  father. 

"  Why,  Mad-cap,  what  makes  you  ask  that  question  ?" 
"  Because  I  am  tired  of  riding  about  with  Bob,     It  has 
been  several  months  since  I  drove  him,  papa,  and  I  thought 
that  we  could  put  him  to  such  good  use  now." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  poor  Bob,  Maddy  ?'» 
"  It  would  be  such  a  nice  little  animal  for  Mrs.  Bruce, 
papa.  Here,  we  only  keep  him  for  amusement,  there,  he 
would  be  so  useful.  They  have  to  borrow  a  crazy  old  cart, 
and  a  broken  down  horse  every  week  to  go  to  market, 
and  if  they  only  had  a  little  cart,  Bob  could  take  their 


THE    COTTAGE    AND    THE    HALL.  81 

vegetables  to  market.  Shan't  I  give  him  to  Mrs.  Bruce, 
papa  ?" 

"Well,  Mad-cap,  I  believe  that  you  would  give  your 
head  away  if  it  were  loose ;  you  may  do  what  you  please 
with  poor  Bob  ;  but  what  about  the  cart  ?" 

"Why,  papa,  there's  a  little  cart  that  he  used  to  drag 
sometimes ;  we  don't  use  it  now." 

"  Do  what  you  choose,  Maddy ;  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  the  widow." 

Maddy  did  not  wait  a  second  bidding.  Accordingly,  on 
the  next  Friday  afternoon,  Bob  was  geared  up  to  the  little 
cart,  and  Maddy  took  her  seat,  full  of  glee.  He  was  a 
perfectly  safe  animal,  and  our  little  girl  'had  driven  him 
many  a  time  around  the  lanes  of  Woodcliff.  Madeline 
drew  up  to  the  door  of  the  widow's  cottage  with  a  laugh 
ing  countenance. 

"  Come,  Roland  and  Effie,  I  want  to  take  you  a  ride  this 
afternoon ;  jump  in ;  I  want  to  see  if  you  can  drive  Bob, 
Roland." 

They  were  soon  seated  in  the  little  cart.  Bob  was 
rather  restive  at  first,  for  he  soon  recognized  the  voice  of 
a  stranger ;  but  with  Madeline's  coaxing,  they  proceeded 
very  well,  and  had  a  merry  ride.  • 

"  Shall  I  drive  you  home,  Madeline  ?"  asked  Roland, 
after  Effie  had  dismounted  at  the  cottage-door. 

"  No,  I  believe  not,  Roland ;  Bob  may  as  well  stay  here, 
for  cart  and  donkey  are  both  yours." 

"  It  cannot  be,  Miss  Madeline  ;  the  gift  is  too  costly." 

"Miss  Madeline!  here  comes  Roland's  pride  again!" 
answered  the  child.  "  Bob  is  of  no  use  to  us  now ;  I  am 
tired  of  driving  him  about,  and  he's  just  the  animal  for 
you,  Roland." 

"  What  a  good  little  friend  your  are,  Maddy  !  You  are 
just  like  some  kind  fairy." 

"  What  a  good  boy  you  are,  Roland !  You  are  just  like 
some  grown-up  friend ;  so  you  see  we  are  about  even  after 


82  WOODCLIFF. 

all.  I  can  give  you  what  money  can  buy,  and  what  will 
soon  be  gone ;  and  you  give  me  light,  knowledge,  strength, 
goodness,  Roland,  and  that  money  cannot  buy;  so  you 
see  at  last  I  can  make  it  out  that  your  gifts  are  better  than 
mine." 

This  was  an  invaluable  gift  to  our  young  friend,  for  it 
enabled  him  to  go  regularly  to  market  without  borrowing 
from  his  neighbors ;  and  it  made  Madeline  very  happy  to 
see  the  sunshine  which  she  had  carried  to  the  cottage. 

Effie  was  a  gentle  girl,  and  all  that  she  could  do  to  show 
her  gratitude,  was  to  raise  her  soft  blue  eyes  to  Maddy's- 
face  with  speechless  thanks,  and  to  press  her  hand  as  they 
passed  into  the  'cottage. 

"May  the  good  Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Madeline,  for  all 
your  goodness,"  was  the  spoken  gratitude  of  Mrs. 
Bruce. 

"  It  is  getting  late  now,  good-bye ;  I  hope  that  Bob 
won't  be  running  away  to  his  old  stable  ;  give  him  plenty 
of  cabbage  or  turnip-tops ;"  and,  with  this  injunction,  away 
scampered  the  child,  happier  than  she  had  ever  been  in  all 
her  life  before. 

Maddy  was  nearly  right  when  she  said,  "  we  are  about 
even  after  afl,"  for  the  influence  brought  to  bear  so  un 
consciously  upon  her  by  this  humble  family,  was  of  a 
character  that  could  not  well  be  measured. 

It  was  a  true  remark  which,  in  her  simplicity,  she  had 
uttered,  when  she  said,  "  I  believe  in  Roland."  A  word 
from  him  was  of  more  avail  than  aught  else,  in  checking  her 
impulsive  actions. 

On  the  next  Sunday  morning,  as  Roland  and  Effie  were 
on  their  way  to  the  Sunday-school,  whom  should  they  see, 
smiling  at  them  from  the  carriage  window,  but  Madeline, 
who  was  riding  out  with  her  Aunt  Matilda.  Roland  hoped 
that  they  were  going  to  church  ;  but  he  had  some  doubts, 
for  he  had  seldom  heard  the  child  speak  about  the  house 
of  God. 


THE    COTTAGE    AND    THE    HALL.  83 

In  the  evening  they  met  at  the  cemetery,  for  it  was  a 
common  thing  for  Madeline  to  walk  there  on  Sunday. 

"  Where  were  you  going,  this  morning,  Maddy  ?"  in 
quired  her  friend. 

"  Aunty  and  I  were  taking  a  ride  to  see  Mrs.  Linden ; 
she  has  not  been  very  well  all  the  week,  and  she  thought 
that  a  ride  would  do  her  good." 

"But,  Maddy,  don't  you  know  that  this  is  God's  day, 
and  that  we  are  commanded  to  keep  it  holy  ?" 

"  I  have  never  been  taught,  Roland,  to  make  much 
difference ;  papa  spends  his  Sunday  mornings  in  the 
library ;  Aunt  Matilda  often  has  the  head-ache,  and  cannot 
go  out,  and  then  I  run  off  down  to  the  shore  with  Hector, 
or  else  take  the  boat,  and  paddle  about  on  the  lake. " 

"God  did  not  give  us  the  day  of  rest  for  our  own 
pleasure,  Maddy;  it  is  the  day  when  we  ought  to  think 
especially  of  holy  things,  and  spend  it  in  such  a  way  as 
will  do  our  souls  good,  and  please  our  Father  in  heaven." 

"What  do  you  do  on  Sunday,  Roland?" 

"We  go  to  the  Sunday-school,  where  we  learn  about 
our  blessed  Saviour,  and  join  in  singing  sweet  praises  to 
his  holy  name  ;  then  we  go  to  church ;  and  when  we  come 
home,  dear  mother  always  contrives  something  nicer  for 
dinner  than  on  other  days,  though  remember,  Maddy,  it  is 
prepared  the  day  before  ;  then  she  explains  the  Bible  to 
us,  and  tells  us  some  of  those  old  Scotch  stories,  which  we 
love  to  hear,  about  the  holy  men  who  died  for  their  religion. 
Sunday  is  such  a  sweet  day  at  our  little  cottage,  we  are  all 
so  close  together  then,  and  we  feel  how  blessed  is  the 
thought  that  we  shall  spend  our  heavenly  Sabbath  together 
forever  and  ever." 

"  Oh,  Roland !  how  different  you  are  from  us  at  Wood- 
cliff.  I  get  so  tired  of  running  about ;  I  get  tired  of  read' 
ing ;  I  have  no  one  to  speak  to,  and  we  don't  go  to  church 
more  than  once  in  every  few  weeks.  I  run  out  in  the 
kitchen  and  talk  to  our  old-  cook,  then  I  go  talk  to  my  pets, 


84  WOODCLIPP. 

then  I  run  into  the  library  and  read  a  little,  but  all  the 
time,  Roland,  I  want  something  that  I  cannot  find.'' 

"  I  wonder  if  your  father  would  let  you  come  to  our 
Sunday-school  ?" 

"  I'll  ask  him,  Roland ;  what  do  you  do  there  ?" 

"  We  learn  Bible  lessons,  hymns,  and  catechism ;  we 
have  such  kind,  excellent  teachers ;  and  once  a  month  we 
have  missionary  meetings." 

"  I  should  think  that  it  was  very  stupid  to  hear  nothing 
all  the  time,  but  solemn  talk  about  death  and  judgment." 

Roland  smiled.  "We  bear  of  something  else,  Maddy; 
about  the  blessed  Saviour,  the  friend  of  sinners,  and  about 
that  happy  land  where  Christians  hope  to  go." 

Maddy  turned  an  earnest  look  upon  Roland's  face. 

"  How  do  you  know,  Roland,  that  all  these  things  are 
true  ?  How  do  you  know  that  the  Bible  is  really  God's 
word  ?  Papa  has  some  books  in  his  library,  by  great  men, 
who  don't  believe  the  Bible." 

"  The  Bible  not  true,  Maddy  !  I  know  but  little  of  the 
reasons  which  prove  it  to  be  God's  own  word ;  but  it  would 
take  me  hours  to  tell  you  even  what  I  know,  there  are  so 
many  things  which  prove  it  true.  It  tells  about  so  many 
things  which  were  to  happen  hundreds  of  years  before  they 
occurred,  and  they  came  exactly  as  the  Bible  said  they 
would.  It  told  that  there  would  be  a  flood,  and  the  flood 
came ;  we  know  that,  not  only  from  the  Bible,  but  from 
other  old  histories,  and  from  the  sayings  of  many  ancient 
nations.  Who  could  tell  but  God,  what  was  going  to  come 
to  pass,  Maddy  ?" 

The  child  sat  with  a  serious  face  turned  towards  Roland, 
as  she  replied,  "I  cannot  answer  that,  Roland." 

"  It  has  also  foretold  the  fate  of  wicked  nations,  of  Baby 
lon,  of  Jerusalem,  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah ;  and  just  as 
it  declared,  has  it  happened.  It  told  of  Jesus,  when, 
where,  and  how  he  should  be  born ;  and  just  so  he  came — 
and,  Maddy,  there  is  a  voice  in  all  our  hearts,  that  wants 


THE  COTTAGE  AND  THE  HALL.  85 

something  better  than  we  can  have  here,  something  that 
will  last  forever.  The  good  Father  knows  that,  Maddy, 
for  he  put  within  us  that  immortal  soul  that  longs  for 
immortal  joys ;  and  then  he  sent  us  down  from  heaven 
these  precious  letters,  which  tell  us  of  just  such  a  state 
beyond  the  grave.  These  letters  were  sent  to  God's  own 
servants  at  different  times,  and  gathered  together  in  the 
days  of  King  James,  and  made  into  the  book  which  we 
call  the  Bible." 

"  I  suppose,  Roland,  that  the  voice  which  you  speak  of, 
is  that  which  makes  me  sometimes  feel  so  tired  of  every 
thing,  although  I  have  so  much  ;  yet  I  am  always  wanting 
something  that  I  have  not  got." 

"  That's  what  you  want,  Maddy ;  a  heart  at  peace  with 
God,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 

Madeline  wore  a  very  serious  face,  as  she  turned  to  leave 
her  mother's  grave,  where  she  had  been  sitting;  and, 
plucking  a  flower  from  one  of  the  plants,  she  said : 

"  Roland,  I'll  go  with  you  to  Sunday-school ;  I  want  to 
know  more  about  these  good  things." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  your  father  will  not  want  you  to  go 
among  the  people  of  our  church,  we  are  not  of  the  same 
sect  as  he." 

"  Why,  you  know,  Roland,  I  can  coax  him  to  anything ; 
and  though  Aunt  Matilda  is  very  bigoted  in  her  notions, 
he  won't  mind  what  she  says,  if  I  want  to  go." 

Saturday  evening  came,  and  Maddy,  mounting  her 
father's  lap,  said, 

"  Papa,  what  would  you  give  to  know  what  I  have  in 
this  paper?"  (and  folding  her  hands  tight  over  the  pack 
age,  she  turned  her  beaming  face  upon  her  father.)  "  Be 
fore  I  open  it,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something  —  it  is 
something  very  good,  papa  ;  just  say  I  shall  have  it,  and 
then  I'll  show  what  I  have  for  you." 

Papa  smiled  upon  his  little  daughter,  as  he  said,  "  I 
should  like  to  know  what  it  is  before  I  promise." 


86  WOODCLIFF. 

"It  is,  indeed,  papa,  something  very  good  —  just  say 
yes  ;  that's  a  dear,  good  papa." 

"  Yery  well,  Maddy,  I  say  yes  —  now  open  the  paper." 

Bending  over  her  package,  she  opened  just  a  small 
portion,  and  holding  it  up  before  her  father,  said,  with  an 
arch  expression  on  her  bright  young  face, 

"  Just  peep  a  little,  papa,"  (and  then  closing  it  again,) 
"  now.  as  soon  as  you  give  me  two  sweet  kisses,  you  shall 
see  what  I  have." 

Papa  was  only  too  willing  to  grant  the  request,  and 
Madeline,  trembling  with  delight,  said, 

"There,  papa,  see  what  little  Mad-cap  has  made  for 
you  ;"  and,  opening  wide  her  package,  she  produced  a  pair 
of  beautiful  slippers,  which,  after  months  of  labor,  she  had 
worked  for  her  father.  It  was  her  first  piece  of  work,  and 
quite  a  triumph  of  her  skill. 

"  It  is  a  sweet  gift,  Maddy ;  I  shall  be  almost  too  proud 
of  them  to  wear  them.  Who  would  ever  have  thought  of 
my  wild  little  daughter's  working  a  pair  of  slippers  ?"  and 
Mr.  Hamilton  kissed  his  darling  child  again  and  again. 

"  I  never  should  have  thought  of  doing  it,  papa,  but  Mrs. 
Bruce  told  me  that  I  ought  to  do  something  for  my  kind 
father;  and  she  showed  me  how  to  work  them.  Come, 
papa,  put  out  your  foot,  let's  try  them  on ;  why  they  fit 
beautifully;  1  am  so  glad!" 

"And  now,  what  does  my  little  daughter  want?'' 

"  Why,  papa,  just  let  me  go  to  Roland  Bruce's  Sunday- 
school.  I  get  so  tired  on  Sunday.  Half  the  time  Aunt 
Matilda  does  not  go  to  church,  and  I  have  to  wander  about 
all  day,  tired  of  everything." 

"  Brother,  will  you  let  the  child  go  there  ?  They  are  not 
of  our  church  ;  she  will  learn  all  kinds  of  puritanic  notions ; 
I  really  think  she  ought  to  be  brought  up  in  the  religion  of 
her  parents." 

"And  so  do  I,  Matilda,  most  emphatically;  but  if  you 
do  not  attend  to  that  yourself,  and  she  must  either  lounge 


THE    COTTAGE    AND    THE    HALL.  87 

about  the  house  all  day,  rove  up  the  sea-shore,  and  among 
the  lanes  and  woods,  or  go  to  Sunday-school  with  the 
Bruces,  where  she  can  occupy  her  busy  mind  with  some 
thing  good,  I  think  the  latter  is  to  be  preferred.  You  can 
go,  my  daughter,  if  it  promotes  your  happiness." 

"  She  will  have  no  associates  of  her  own  class,  if  you 
allow  this  intimacy." 

"  She's  only  a  child,  Matilda ;  future  years  will  regulate 
all  that." 

"  We  shall  see,  brother ;  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  repent 
of  the  step." 

Maddy  had  gained  the  day ;  and  on  Sunday  morning, 
off  she  trotted  with  her  friends,  the  Bruces,  with  great 
delight. 

The  exercises  pleased  her;  fortunately,  she  was  placed 
under  the  care  of  a  wise  and  excellent  teacher ;  and  Maddy 
spent  the  first  Sunday  much  to  her  satisfaction. 

But  with  all  these  influences,  she  was  still  the  same 
mischief-loving  child  as  ever.  Old  Betty,  the  cook,  Nanny, 
her  own  maid  in  the  kitchen,  Mademoiselle  in  the  school 
room,  and  Aunt  Matilda  in  the  parlor,  were  all  in  turn  the 
subjects  of  her  practical  jokes. 

The  first  of  April  bad  arrived,  and  her  little  brain  was 
busy  with  its  plans.  Early  in  the  morning,  Roland  received 
a  note  in  printed  letters,  stating  that  if  he  would  go  down 
to  the  sea-shore  in  the  afternoon,  and  walk  up  to  old  Peter's 
cabin,  then  down  to  the  rock,  he  would  find  something 
hanging  on  the  flag-staff  to  his  advantage. 

He  had  entirely  forgotten  that  it  was  the  first  of  April, 
and  his  curiosity  being  awakened,  he  started  off  early  in 
the  afternoon,  'and  followed  the  directions  given.  When 
he  reached  the  rock,  hanging  to  the  flag-staff  was  a  pack 
age  directed  to  him,  which  he  commenced  opening ;  after 
removing  many  envelopes,  he  found  a  short  note,  directing 
him  to  take  the  donkey  and  go  to  the  next  town,  stopping 
at  the  post-office,  where  he  would  find  further  directions, 


88  WOODCLIFF. 

and  with  the  injunction  to  be  sure  and  not  neglect  the  hint. 
Accordingly,  he  went;  when  reaching  there,  he  found  a 
large  and  heavy  package,  directed  in  the  same  manner. 
On  opening  it,  it  contained  a  brick,  very  carefully  covered 
in  a  number  of  newspapers,  with  directions  to  go  to  the 
woods  near  Maple  Lane  school,  and  under  the  large  oak- 
tree  by  the  door,  he  would  find  a  spot  marked  by  a  board 
with  R.  Gr.  B.  printed  on  it;  on  digging  it  up,  he  would 
find  the  object  of  his  search. 

Roland  followed  the  direction ;  and,  after  much  digging, 
found  a  box  directed  as  the  rest ;  on  opening  of  which  he 
drew  out  a  small  toy  bagpipe,  with  the  direction,  "For 
Roland  when  he  visits  the  Highlands."  Just  as  he  was 
examining  the  toy,  out  sprang  Maddy,  and  making  a  low 
courtesy,  said — 

"  It  is  the  first  of  April,  Roland ;  I  hope  you  are  not  very 
tired." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  seen  him  displeased. 
He  did  not  smile,  for  his  time  was  very  precious,  and  he 
had  wasted  the  whole  afternoon  with  Madeline's  folly. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Miss  Madeline,  that  you  saw  fit  to  send  me 
on  such  a  chase.  It  will  do  for  rich  people  to  waste  their 
time — I  have  something  else  to  do." 

"  I  was  only  in  fun,  Roland ;  I  did  not  think  that  it 
would  make  you  angry." 

"  I  never  could  bear  to  be  laughed  at,  and  then  I  had 
something  very  particular  to  do  for  my  mother.  It  was 
not  kind  to  serve  me  such  a  trick." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  such  a  touchy  boy,  Ro 
land.  I  don't  think  that  you  need  make  such  a  fuss  about 
a  trifle." 

"I  can't  help  it;  I  never  could  take  a  joke.  Good-bye," 
and  Roland  mounted  his  donkey,  and  rode  away  without 
another  word. 

Poor  little  Maddy !  she  had  not  thought  of  such  an  end 
to  her  sport,  and  her  proud  spirit  was  fully  aroused.  She 


THE  COTTAGE  AND  THE  HALL.  89 

knew  that  she  had  done  nothing  very  wrong,  and  felt 
really  angry  at  Roland  for  his  conduct.  She  thought  that 
it  was  foolish,  and  determined  to  make  no  further  apology. 
He  might  go  with  his  Scotch  pride  for  all  that  she  cared ; 
and  with  one  hand,  she  haughtily  tossed  her  curls,  but  with 
the  other,  wiped  away  tears  that  would  fall  in  spite  of  her 
pride. 

Roland  had  a  battle  to  fight  all  the  way  home.  He  felt 
that  he  had  done  wrong ;  he  had  betrayed  unchristian 
tempers  in  the  presence  of  one  whom  he  desired  to  benefit, 
had  injured  the  cause  of  his  Master,  and  wounded  the  feel 
ings  of  a  kind  little  friend,  who  was  only  enjoying,  as  she 
thought,  a  harmless  piece  of  fun. 

The  old  man  was  very  strong  that  day  in  Roland's  heart ; 
and  poor  Bob  felt  something  of  the  inward  strife,  as  the 
boy  unconsciously  urged  him  forward  with  the  hard  heels 
of  his  boot.  The  new  man  whispered  other  counsels — 
"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Roland  Bruce ; 
you  pretend  to  be  a  Christian,  and  to-  get  so  vexed  at  a 
piece  of  fun  from  a  frolicsome  little  girl,  who  is  such  a  good 
friend  to  you.''  Roland  slackened  his  pace,  and  by  the 
time  that  he  had  reached  the  cottage  door,  the  new  man 
had  prevailed. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Roland  ?"  asked  his  mother. 

"Why,  mother,  this  is  the  first  of  April,  and  Madeline 
has  sent  me  on  a  wild  goose  chase  this  whole  afternoon.  I 
was  very  angry  at  first,  and  said  some  unkind  things  for 
which  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  what  is  your  duty,  Roland." 

"  No,  dear  mother ;  I  will  not  lay  my  head  upon  my 
pillow  to-night,  without  clearing  my  conscience.'' 

As  soon  as  tea  was  over,  he  walked  over  to  Woodcliff ; 

and  when  near  the  house,  met  his  little  friend  walking  with 

a  serious  step  along  the  lane.    As  soon  as  she  saw  Roland, 

she  turned  her  head  away,  drew  up  her  form  to  its  utmost 

8* 


90  WOODCLIFF. 

height,  and  with  a  proud  step  attempted  to  pass  by.  But 
Roland  crossed  her  path,  and  taking  off  his  cap  said, 

"  Madeline,  I  could  not  go  to  my  rest  to-night,  without 
asking  your  pardon  for  my  rudeness.  I  am  very  sensitive 
to  ridicule,  but  I  do  hope  that  you  will  forgive  my  hasty 
speech.  I  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of  myself  for  such 
conduct  to  you." 

She  turned  her  face  towards  the  boy.  Her  eyes  were 
swimming  with  tears,  but  she  extended  her  hand,  and  said, 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  Roland,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
much  you  wounded  me,  for  I  was  only  in  fun ;  and  then, 
Roland,  I  thought  that  Christians  never  get  angry." 

"  That  is  what  grieved  me  so  much,  Madeline ;  that  I, 
who  try  to  teach  you,  should  have  forgotten  myself  so  far ; 
it  has  taught  me  a  good  lesson,  and  bade  me  to  look  up  for 
help,  for  my  strength  is  all  weakness  when  the  tempter 
comes." 

"  Well,  we  are  friends  now,  Roland ;  I  could  not  bear  to 
be  angry  with  you. '  I  shall  not  forget  this  first  of  April, 
and  know  where  to  play  my  tricks  in  future." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

BOSTON   RELATIVES. 

"  WHICH  way,  Maddy,  this  vacation  ?"  asked  Mr.  Hamil 
ton. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Boston,  papa  ?  I  have  not  seen 
Aunt  Clara  so  long ;  may  I  not  go  there  ?  I  don't  remem 
ber  her  at  all." 

"  That  is  what  I  was  thinking  of,  Maddy ;  your  aunt  has 
written  so  often.  I  am  afraid,  however,  that  you  will  have 
a  sober  visit,  for  Aunt  Clara  is  a  very  religious  woman." 

"  I  have  cousins  in  Boston,  papa,  and  they  will  make  my 
time  pass  pleasantly." 

"  Well,  you  shall  go,  Maddy,  and  then  your  cousins  may 
visit  you  at  Christmas." 

"  What  kind  of  a  looking  person  is  Aunt  Clara,  papa  ?" 

"  She  used  to  be"  a  pleasant  looking  woman  when  she 
was  young,  not  very  handsome,  Maddy  ;  but  since  she  has 
lost  her  children  she  has  also  lost  all  her  bloom,  and  lives 
entirely  secluded  from  the  world." 

Maddy  was  full  of  anticipated  pleasure  ;  but  there  was 
one  drawback — she  did  not  like  to  leave  her  friends  at  the 
cottage. 

"  I  came  to  bid  you  good-bye,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  said  the 
child.  "  I  am  going  to  Boston  to  spend  the  holidays ;  but 
I  shall  not  find  such  good  friends  there,  I  am  sure." 

"  There  is  one  request  I  have  to  make,  Madeline." 

"  What  is  that,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?" 

"  That  you  will  bring  me  back  your  likeness." 

(91) 


92  WOODCLIFF. 

"  That  I  will,  if  you  want  it." 

Roland,  Effie  and  Maddy  started  to  pay  their  last  visit 
for  some  time  to  the  sea-shore. 

"  Shan't  I  miss  the  old  ocean,  Roland  ?  I  do  so  love  to 
hear  the  music  of  its  waves." 

"  We  shall  miss  you,  Maddy,"  said  Effie.  "  Only  think, 
you  will  be  gone  three  whole  months,  and  when  you  get  to 
Boston,  you  may  forget  your  country  friends." 

"  That's  what  I  never  do,  Effie,"  replied  the  child,  with 
a  glowing  cheek.  "  I  do  not  fancy  very  many  people,  but  I 
never  grow  cold  to  those  I  once  love.  I  hate  warmly,  and 
I  love  with  all  my  heart." 

Roland  sat  very  still,  for  secluded  as  their  lives  were, 
there  was  but  one  source  of  pleasure  to  them  outside  the 
cottage  walls,  and  that  was  the  society  of  our  impulsive 
little  Madeline. 

"  Papa  told  me  to  say  to  you,  Roland,  that  you  may  come 
up  to  Woodcliff  every  Saturday,  and  get  any  book  you  want 
to  read." 

"  Thank  you,  Madeline ;  that  is  very  kind.  It  will  help 
to  pass  my  leisure  time  until  you  return." 

Madeline  mounted  the  highest  rock,  and,  standing  by  the 
flag-staff,  she  spread  out  her  arms  towards  the  sea,  saying, 
"  Good-bye,  old  ocean,  until  I  come  back.  I  shall  find 
nothing  so  grand  as  this,  go  where  I  may." 

They  parted  at  the  cottage  door,  and  next  morning,  Aunt 
Matilda  was  busily  employed  in  packing  up  all  the  finery 
that  she  could  gather  for  her  little  niece.  Handsome 
dresses,  and  pretty  tasty  waists,  several  new  bonnets,  and 
every  variety  of  adornment  that  she  could  devise,  were 
heaped  upon  the  child. 

"  Now,  Madeline,  I  do  hope  that  you  will  not  be  such  a 
wild  little  thing  in  Boston.  If  you  want  to  be  like  a  young 
lady,  you  must  not  race  about  so — it  tumbles  your  curls,  and 
disarranges  your  dress.  No  young  lady  is  ever  noisy  or 
boisterous.  When  you  are  invited  out,  you  must  always 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  93 

wear  gloves,  and  make  a  courtesy  when  you  come  in  and 
when  you  go  out." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Aunty,  that  I  shall  often  forget  these  rules ; 
I  shall  never  stop  to  think  of  half  of  them." 

"  I  hope,  Madeline,  that  you  will  not  mortify  me  by  any 
breach  of  etiquette." 

"  A  fig  for  etiquette,  Aunt  Matilda ;  I  am  only  a  little 
girl,  and  I  am  sure  that  Aunt  Clara  don't  want  me  to  be  a 
little  woman." 

In  due  time,  Maddy,  accompanied  by  her  father,  started 
on  her  trip. 

She  had  some  dread  of  Aunt  Clara,  for  she  had  heard  so 
much  about  her  sorrows,  her  piety,  and  her  gravity,  that 
she  really  expected  to  see  a  woman  solemn  as  the  grave, 
and  demure  as  a  cloistered  nun.  Towards  evening,  they 
arrived  at  Mrs.  Edmonds' ;  and  when  Maddy  entered  the 
parlor,  nothing  could  exceed  her  surprise  on  meeting  a 
small  lady  of  middle  age,  with  a  serene  aspect  and  pecu 
liarly  sweet  smile  around  her  mouth ;  her  almost  youthful 
innocence  of  expression  would  have  misled  one,  were  it  not 
for  the  silver  hair  which  lay  upon  her  fair  forehead  in  rip 
pling  waves,  falling  in  a  few  light  curls  around  her  face, 
and  speaking  so  deeply  of  grief  and  sundered  ties.  A  black 
silk  dress,  and  white  lace  cap  and  collar — simple,  but  costly, 
was  the  costume  which  at  all  times,  distinguished  Aunt 
Clara.  A  •  pretty  little  foot,  and  delicate  hands,  especially 
attracted  Madeline's  attention.  The  only  ornaments  she 
wore,  were  a  mourning  pin  containing  her  children's  hair, 
her  wedding  ring,  and  a  plain  gold  watch. 

Aunt  Clara  folded  Maddy  affectionately  in  her  arms,  and 
turning  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  with  much  feeling,  remarked — 

"  What  an  image  of  Julia !  I  shall  love  you,  Madeline, 
for  my  dear  sister's  sake." 

"  It  is  so,  Clara  ;  she  grows  every  day  more  and  more 
like  her  mother.  Just  as  impulsive ;  just  as  warm-hearted." 

Maddy  decided  at  once  that  Aunt  Clara  was  charming.. 


94  WOODCLIFP 

After  a  hasty  toilet,  Maddy  was  conducted  to  the  family 
room.  Everything  was  so  genial  and  cheerful,  that  she 
really  enjoyed  her  tea  out  of  the  bright  silver  urn ;  and  the 
old  family  plate  seemed  to  shine  with  such  a  polish  under 
the  gas-light,  that  she  wondered  if  it  was  brought  out  in 
compliment  to  the  strangers.  It  really  did  smile  a  bright 
welcome.  The  family  consisted  of  Aunt  Clara,  and  an 
orphan  child,  the  daughter  of  a  dear  friend,  who  had  died 
when  she  was  an  infant.  Ever  since,  Mrs.  Edmonds  had 
supplied  a  mother's  place  to  Lucy,  who  bore  her  mother's 
name. 

Madeline  was  introduced  to  the  young  girl,  who  appeared 
about  fourteen.  She  soon  found  that  Lucy  was  gentle  and 
attractive  in  her  manners,  with  a  degree  of  seriousness 
unusual  in  a  girl  of  her  age. 

Lucy  Edmonds  was  drawn  towards  the  bright  and  beau 
tiful  child,  who  prattled  so  sweetly  around  the  supper 
table ;  for  not  being  possessed  of  many  personal  charms, 
she  was  a  warm  admirer  of  it  in  others.  Lucy's  chief 
attraction  was  a  profusion  of  glossy  black  hair,  that  lay  in 
heavy  folds  around  a  remarkably  fine  head ;  a  pale  com 
plexion,  ordinary  features,  and  soft  dark  eyes,  made  up  the 
rest. 

As  soon  as  tea  was  over,  Madeline  drew  Lucy  into  the 
parlor,  and  seating  herself  upon  the  sofa  by  her  side,  she 
rattled  away  with  questions,  for  which  she  scarcely  waited 
for  an  answer. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  Lavinia  Raymond  ?  What  a  con 
ceited  piece  she  is !  Is  she  just  as  fond  of  dress  as  ever  ? 
When  she  was  at  our  house,  all  she  thought  about  was 
changing  her  dress,  and  walking  up  and  down  before  the 
glass.  I  suppose  that  I  must  be  polite  to  her,  for  her 
mother  is  my  father's  sister ;  but  I  know  I  shall  like  you 
better,  Lucy." 

Lucy  was  amused  at  the  perfect  openness  of  Madeline's 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  95 

remarks,  but  she  had  been  taught  better  lessons,  and  merely 
replied, 

"  Lavinia  comes  to  see  us  occasionally ;  our  doings  are 
not  pleasing  to  her;  but  mamma  does  not  like  me  to  make 
unpleasant  remarks  about  people.  Lavinia  has  never  been 
taught  anything  better.  We  ought  to  be  sorry  for  her." 

"Well!  well!  you  are  a  good  little  Lucy,  I  see  that.  I 
am  afraid  that  you  will  not  like  my  plain-spoken  words." 

"  I  like  truth,  Madeline ;  but  it  is  not  well,  mamma  says, 
to  express  all  that  we  think  about  people.  Charity  should 
lead  us  to  hope  the  best  of  everybody." 

"  I  do  believe  that  you  are  a  Methodist,  Lucy ;  that's  the 
name  that  is  given  to  very  good  people,  is  it  not,  Lucy  ?'' 

"  There  are  very  good  people  among  all  Christians,  Made 
line  ;  but  I  think  that  my  mamma  is  the  best  of  all." 

"  Lucy,  will  you  give  us  some  music  ?"  said  Aunt  Clara. 

She  did  not  need  any  coaxing,  but  went  forward  to  the 
instrument  with  the  calm  self-possession  of  one  that  had 
been  taught  to  think  but  little  of  herself. 

Lucy  Edmonds  had  a  sweet  voice,  and  sang  several  songs 
most  charmingly. 

"  That's  what  I  like,  Lucy,"  remarked  little  Mad-cap. 
"  Now  there  was  Lavinia  Raymond,  who  has  had  the  very 
best  masters ;  it  was  the  greatest  act  of  condescension  for 
her  to  play  one  piece,  and  then  it  was  done  in  such  an 
affected  style,  that  I  really  used  to  feel  sick  when  she  sat 
down  to  the  piano.  Here  !  this  was  the  way;"  and  Made 
line  seated  herself  at  the  instrument,  and,  being  a  perfect 
mimic,  commenced  rolling  her  eyes,  and  mincing  her  words 
in  imitation  of  her  cousin. 

"  Madeline,"  said  Aunt  Clara,  "did  not  Lavinia  stay  with 
you  some  months?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  she  was  at  Woodcliff  three  months." 

"  Is  it  kind,  Maddy,  to  ridicule  her?  You  know  that  she 
is  your  cousin,  and  has  been  your  guest.  Never  mind 
Lavinia,  Maddy,  1  would  rather  hear  some  of  your  music.'' 


96  WOODCLIFF. 

"  I  would  play  willingly,  Aunt  Clara,  but  I  only  know  a 
few  simple  songs." 

She  sat  down  with  such  an  artless,  winning  manner,  that 
Aunt  Clara  listened  with  peculiar  delight,  not  only  on  ac 
count  of  the  manner  with  which  she  complied,  but  with 
feelings  of  deep  emotion,  as  the  rich  music  of  her  remarkable 
voice  reminded  her  of  the  sister  whom  she  had  lost. 

"  Do  you  like  Scotch  songs,  Aunt  Clara  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear;  will  you  sing  one?"  and  Maddy  sang 
with  peculiar  sweetness — 

"Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonny  doon, 
How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair," 

but  when  she  sang  in  her  own  touching  way, 
"I  am  wearing  awa',  Jean," 

Mrs.  Edmonds  could  not  restrain  the  starting  tears,  for  it 
was  her  sister's  favorite  song. 

About  nine  o'clock,  a  bell  was  rung,  which  assembled 
the  family  for  prayers.  The  two  servants,  with  Mr. 
Hamilton,  Lucy,  and  Madeline,  composed  the  worshipers. 
Lucy  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  played  an  evening 
hymn,  in  which  all  present  joined ;  and  Aunt  Clara's  soft 
impressive  voice  read  the  Scriptures,  and  a  solemn  form  of 
evening  prayer,  which  committed  all  present  to  the  care  of 
the  Good  Shepherd.  All  was  serious,  and  yet  there  was 
a  sweet  cheerfulness  about  the  whole  household,  which 
had  a  most  harmonizing  influence  upon  our  little  girl. 

"  Good-night,  my  love,"  said  the  kind  aunt,  as  she  kissed 
the  niece ;  Lucy  will  show  you  to  your  room." 

There  was  a  dear  little  chamber  adjoining  Aunt  Clara's 
room,  which  had  been  fitted  up  for  Madeline.  It  was  a 
gem  of  a  child's  sleeping-room  —  a  pretty  green  carpet,  the 
dearest  little  bedstead  and  wash-stand,  the  prettiest  little 
bureau,  and  neatest  chairs,  a  hanging-shelf  filled  with  such 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  97 

nice  books  —  pure  white  curtains,  the  sweetest  toilet  set, 
and  pictures  of  domestic  scenes  of  innocent  and  happy 
childhood.  It  was  charming!  So  thought  Madeline  as 
she  looked  around.  And  when  she  saw  the  little  Bible 
and  hymn-book,  which  were  placed  upon  a  table  near  her 
bed,  she  felt  that  Aunt  Clara  had  forgotten  nothing  that 
could  make  her  good  and  happy. 

The  first  bell  awoke  our  little  girl,  and  in  a  few  minutes, 
Lucy  peeped  in  to  see  what  progress  she  was  making. 
She  was  soon  dressed,  and,  after  a  few  verses  in  the  Bible, 
and  a  short  prayer  of  simple  words,  Maddy  met  good  Aunt 
Clara  in  the  breakfast-room.  Smiling  and  serene,  she 
kissed  her  little  niece ;  and,  after  the  morning  devotions 
and  breakfast  were  over,  Aunt  Clara,  taking  Madeline  by 
the  hand,  went  up  to  her  chamber. 

"  Now,  my  dear  niece,  there  are  a  few  things  which  I 
wish  you  to  do,  after  the  chambermaid  has  attended 
to  the  ordinary  care  of  your  room.  I  want  you  to  keep 
everything  in  perfect  order,  putting  up  your  comb  and 
brush,  hanging  up  your  dresses,  and  putting  away  every 
thing  that  you  are  not  using ;  neatness  is  invaluable  to  a 
woman,  and  I  hope  that  you  have  been  accustomed  to 
these  things." 

Maddy  smiled,  and  said,  "  I  don't  think  that  I  ever  hung 
up  a  dress  in  all  my  life ;  Nanny  did  everything  of  that 
kind  for  me ;  but  I'll  try  to  remember,  if  I  can." 

" So  I  suppose,  Madeline;  but  it  is  a  good  thing  to  learn 
to  wait  upon  yourself. '  After  a  while,  we  will  take  a  ride  ; 
I  want  to  show  you  the  environs  of  Boston." 

The  child  was  enchanted  with  all  that  she  saw;  her 
innocent  expressions  of  delight  amused  Aunt  Clara,  and 
brought  back  many  a  train  of  tender  thought,  as  her  en 
thusiasm  recalled  the  image  of  her  mother. 

When  she  reached  home,  she  found  that  Lavinia  Ray 
mond  had  been  to  see  her. 

"Is  not  this  foolish,  Aunt  Clara,  for  Lavinia,  who  is 
9 


98  WOODCLTPF. 

only  a  little  girl,  to  leave  her  card  for  her  cousin  ?  She  is 
a  real  dunce  to  put  on  such  airs." 

"  Stop,  Madeline  ;  it  is  your  cousin,  and  you  should  not 
indulge  in  such  free  remarks." 

"  But,  Aunt  Clara,  I  would  not  say  one  word  behind  her 
back,  that  I  would  not  to  her  face ;  I've  told  her  many  a 
time  that  she  was  a  simpleton." 

<(  Do  you  expect  to  go  through  this  world,  Maddy,  telling 
everybody  what  you  think  of  them  ?" 

"  If  I  don't  by  my  words,  I  must  by  my  manners ;  for 
I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me,  be  polite  to  people  whom  I 
do  not  like ;  that  seems  deceitful,  Aunt  Clara." 

"  No,  Maddy,  you  are  mistaken ;  courtesy  is  due  to  all — 
you  may  form  very  erroneous  opinions  of  people  ;  and  there 
could  be  no  social  intercourse  if  all  the  thoughts  that  pass 
through  our  minds,  are  to  be  obtruded  at  all  times  upon 
persons  whom  we  may  not  choose  to  fancy." 

Next  day,  Lucy  and  Madeline  called  upon  Lavinia. 

"  What  did  you  mean,  Lavinia,  by  leaving  your  card  the 
other  day  ?" 

"  Why,  Madeline,  that  is  the  fashionable  way  of  paying 
visits !" 

"  Poh !  Lavinia,  we  are  nothing  but  little  girls ;  and  it  is 
just  ridiculous  for  us  to  be  playing  the  woman." 

Lucy  could  not  but  smile  at  her  homely  bluntness,  and 
thought  that  her  mamma  would  have  some  trouble  before 
she  could  tame  the  spirits,  or  discipline  Madeline's  voluble 
tongue. 

In  a  day  or  two,  Aunt  Clara  invited  a  few  choice  little 
girls  to  take  tea  with  our  young  friends.  They  were 
pleasant  children,  just  such  as  Madeline  liked,  fond  of  play, 
and  not  too  old  to  talk  about  dolls.  Lavinia,  who  was  one 
of  the  party,  looked  down  upon  the  rest  with  supreme 
contempt,  and  when  asked  to  join  in  their  childish  plays, 
could  only  answer,  "  No,  I  thank  you  ;  pray  excuse  me." 

Lucy  Edmonds  exerted  herself  to  the  utmost:  joined  in 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  99 

their  plays,  and  when  they  wanted  to  dance,  played  several 
cotillons  for  their  amusement.  Aunt  Clara  brought  out 
some  childish  games,  and  in  her  own  sweet  winning  man 
ner,  made  one  of  the  company. 

Madeline  passed  a  delightful  evening.  After  the  children 
had  gone,  she  hung  around  her  aunt,  as  if  wanting  to  say 
something. 

"  What  is  it,  Maddy  ?  Have  you  not  something  to  tell 
me?" 

Seating  herself  on  a  little  stool  at  her  aunt's  feet,  she 
said,  "  How  is  it,  Aunt  Clara  ?  I  heard  that  you  were  so 
stern  and  cold,  and  that  you  thought  it  a  sin  even  to  smile. 
I  thought  that  I  should  be  so  afraid  of  you ;  then  you  let 
us  dance,  and  I  always  thought  that  good  people  did  not 
dance.  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  you,  Aunt  Clara,  and  I 
love  you  so  much  more  than  I  do  Aunt  Matilda." 

"  You  have  made  some  common  mistakes,  Madeline  ;  the 
world  likes  to  cast  reproach  upon  the  children  of  God,  and 
so  they  represent  us  as  dull  and  gloomy;  but  the  Bible 
does  not,  Maddy.  The  righteous  there  are  always  spoken 
of  as  the  only  happy  people  in  the  world  —  merriment 
belongs  to  the  days  of  childhood,  Madeline,  and  if  the  joy 
of  the  spirit  leads  the  feet  to  a  dancing  motion,  let  it  be  so  ; 
only  let  it  stop  when  childhood  has  passed  away ;  more 
serious  duties,  cares,  and  joys  then  have  claims  upon  us." 

"  You  let  Lucy  dance,  then,  Aunt  Clara?" 

"  Yes,  Madeline,  here  at  home  if  she  wishes  to ;  but 
dancing-schools  and  children's  balls,  and  all  these  foolish 
displays,  I  entirely  discourage." 

"  What  will  you  do,  aunt,  when  Lucy  is  a  grown-up 
lady  ?" 

"  I  am  trying  all  that  I  can  to  give  Lucy  a  strictly 
religious  education,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  I  expect 
that  she  will  be  a  Christian ;  that  will  regulate  all  the  rest, 
Madeline.  Lucy  will  not  then  need  the  vain  amusements 
of  the  world  to  make  her  happy — when  the  butterfly  bursts 


100  WOODCLIFF. 

its  shell,  it  feeds  no  more  upon  the  food  which  satisfied  the 
grub,  but  honeyed  sweets  alone  suits  its  new  nature ;  so 
with  the  child  of  God,  Maddy,  who  can  say, 

"  Let  worldly  minds  the  world  pursue, 

It  has  no  charms  for  me; 
Once  I  admired  its  follies  too, 
But  grace  has  set  me  free." 

"  Well,  dear  aunt,  if  all  pious  people  were  just  like  you, 
I  think  that  everybody  would  want  to  be  Christians ;  but 
there  was  Miss  Molly  Tibbs,  with  a  face  as  long  as  my  arm, 
and  a  mouth  drawn  up  like  a  persimmon,  she  thought  it 
was  a  sin  to  laugh,  and  that  pink  was  a  wicked  color ;  just 
think  of  that,  Aunt  Clara,  the  sweet  color  of  the  lovely  rose 
wicked!  Did  you  ever  hear  such  stuff?  But  wasn't  she 
a  vixen!  scolding  from  morning  till  night — tormenting  her 
little  brothers  and  sisters,  and  making  everybody  unhappy 
around  her." 

"  Poor  lady !  What  a  pity  that  she  had  not  studied  the 
character  of  our  blessed  Master,  whose  whole  errand  upon 
the  earth  was  to  make  men  happy  '' 

On  the  first  Sunday  after  her  arrival  she  accompanied 
Aunt  Clara  and  Lucy  to  church.  It  was  a  solemn  service, 
and  the  minister  was  an  earnest,  faithful  preacher  of  the 
simple  gospel.  When  the  sweet  organ  rolled  through  the 
church  with  its  swell  of  heart-stirring  music,  Madeline  was 
carried  away,  for  she  was  not  accustomed  to  the  organ  in 
their  humble  village  church. 

"Was  not  that  lovely  music,  Aunt  Clara?"  asked  the 
child;  "it  is  so  different  from  our  country  choir.  I  could 
listen  all  day  to  music  like  that ;  and  the  voices,  Oh  !  how 
that  lady's  sounded ;  it  seemed  to  ring,  Aunt  Clara,  just 
like  a  sweet  bell,  and  then  it  rolled  up  and  up,  and  I  could 
follow  it  all  round  the  roof — it  seemed  to  carry  us  right  up 
to  Heaven." 

Sunday  was  a  happy  day  at  Aunt  Clara's.     She  wore 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  101 

her  brightest  smile  on  that  blessed  day,  and  everything 
around  her  household  breathed  of  the  sweet  calm  within 
that  holy  bosom.  In  the  corner  of  the  parlor  stood  a  harp 
closely  covered.  Madeline  had  often  wondered  who  played 
upon  the  instrument,  and  at  last  ventured  to  ask  Aunt 
Clara. 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  the  instrument,  Madeline,  and  used 
to  play  upon  it  in  the  happy  days  when  my  husband  and 
children  were  with  me ;  but  since  then  I  have  never 
touched  it." 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  hear  some  of  its  sweet  strains, 
Aunt  Clara?  I  never  heard  the  harp,"  asked  Madeline. 

"It  is  out  of  tune,  Maddy ;  but  to-morrow  I  will  send 
for  the  tuner,  and  you  shall  be  gratified." 

"Whose  pictures  are  those,  Aunt  Clara?"  asked  the 
child,  as  she  stood  gazing  at  the  portraits  of  two  lovely 
children,  a  boy  of  twelve,  and  a  girl  of  nine  years  of  age. 

"  That  is  my  Edward,  Madeline,  and  that  is  my  sweet 
Agnes;  they  have  been  among  the  blessed  ones  seven 
years  now ;  they  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives, 
and  in  their  death  they  were  not  divided.  Only  one  week 
separated  them.  Edward  was  taken  first  with  scarlet  fever, 
and  Agnes  followed  him  in  one  short  week.  Oh  !  Madeline, 
these  were  dark  hours  when  I  laid  my  darlings  in  the  grave  ; 
but  they  were  lambs  of  Jesus'  flock,  Maddy,  and  the  com 
fort  came.  Jesus  healed  my  wounds  with  his  own  gracious 
hand.  I  can  say  now,  '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away  ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.' " 

"  What  a  sweet  face  Agnes  has !  She  looks  so  pure, 
just  like  a  sweet  lily  of  the  valley." 

"  That's  what  we  used  to  call  her,  Maddy,  for  she  was 
just  as  lovely  as  those  sweet  lilies.  Look  here,  my  child," 
and  Mrs.  Edmonds  opened  a  little  book  which  contained  a 
number  of  dried  flowers.  "These  she  gathered  the  last 
year  of  her  sweet  life,  and  pressed  them  for  her  mother ; 
they  are  so  precious,  Madeline.  Come  up  stairs,  my  dear, 
9* 


102  WOODCLIFF. 

I  want  to  show  you  something  else,''  and  Aunt  Clara  led 
the  way  to  a  small  room  that  was  always  locked.  "  This 
was  my  darlings'  play-room,  Maddy." 

A  baby  house,  a  rocking  horse,  some  hanging  shelves 
filled  with  books,  several  dolls,  a  little  bureau  filled  with 
dolls'  dresses,  and  a  box  of  carpenters'  tools — all  these 
sweet  mementoes  were  there.  But  that  which  touched 
Madeline  most,  was  the  last  Christmas  tree  that  the  mother 
had  ever  dressed.  There  it  was,  with  all  its  little  keepsakes 
from  various  friends. 

"  Oh !  Aunt  Clara,  did  it  not  break  your  heart  to  part 
with  both  ?» 

"It  would  have  done  so,  my  child,  but  for  the  grace 
which  bade  me  look  upward,  when  the  first  storm  of  grief 
had  passed,  and  I  could  look  up  at  the  crown  of  glory,  the 
palms  of  victory,  and  the  white  robes  of  the  upper  world ; 
then  by  degrees  my  grief  was  stilled,  and  I  have  found 
comfort  in  lightening  the  griefs  of  my  fellow-sufferers,  and 
spreading  the  flowers  of  love  along  the  path  of  other 
children,  as  I  would  have  done  for  my  own  darlings." 

"  That's  what  makes  you  so  good  to  Lucy,  dear  aunt," 
answered  Madeline. 

"  Lucy  is  a  great  blessing,  dear  j  she  is  so  thoughtful  for 
her  years.  I  think  she  never  forgets  my  sorrow,  and  is 
always  trying  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  those  who  have 
gone  before." 

"  Why,  aunt,  I  never  should  have  thought  that  you  had 
seen  so  much  trouble,  you  are  always  so  smiling  and  happy." 

"  Maddy,  there  are  some  of  the  marks  of  the  grief  that 
wrung  my  heart,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  silver  hair,  so  fine, 
so  soft,  "  it  turned  white  in  one  night,  my  child." 

Madeline  felt  a  deeper  reverence  for  her  dear  aunt  from 
that  day,  and  by  every  means  in  her  power  tried  to  show 
her  love  for  her  afflicted  relative.  And  in  return,  Aunt 
Clara  learned  to  love  most  tenderly  the  wild  child  of  nature 
committed  for  a  time  to  her  care.  The  next  day,  the  luner 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  103 

was  sent  for,  and  in  the  evening,  Aunt  Clara  entertained 
Madeline  with  some  exquisite  sacred  music  on  the  harp. 

"  I  have  often  heard  papa  talk  about  the  harp,  he  is  so 
fond  of  that  instrument.  Would  it  not  be  a  great  surprise 
if  I  could  learn  the  harp  without  his  knowledge  ?  he  would 
be  so  delighted." 

"We  will  see  about  it,  Maddy." 

Next  day,  Mrs.  Edmonds  engaged  one  of  the  best  teachers 
in  Boston,  and  laid  out  a  daily  plan  for  her  little  niece  as 
well  as  Lucy,  for  she  well  knew  that  idleness  is  the  bane 
of  happiness. 

"  Line  upon  line,  and  precept  upon  precept,"  was,  how 
ever,  the  discipline  which  she  had  constantly  to  exercise  in 
training  the  wayward  nature  of  her  interesting  charge. 

One  day  Aunt  Clara  looked  over  the  banisters,  and  saw 
her  little  niece  talking  very  earnestly  to  a  poor  woman  at 
the  front  door. 

"  Come  here,  Madeline,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  aunt/'  said  the  child,  "  I  will  be  there 
directly." 

"  Who  is  that  woman,  Maddy  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  aunt ;  but  she  is  so  poor  and  ragged. 
She  has  five  children,  and  no  husband,  and  they  are  starving 
to  death." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  my  child  ?" 

"  Why,  aunt,  she  said  so,"  replied  Maddy,  with  an  earnest 
look. 

"  What  did  you  give  her,  my  child?" 

"All  that  was  in  my  purse,  aunt." 

"  And  how  much  was  that  ?" 

"  Only  two  dollars,  aunt,  and  that  is  so  little  to  buy 
clothes  and  food  for  so  many." 

"  You  had  better  not  give  money  in  that  way,  my  child." 

Mrs.  Edmonds  went  to  the  door,  took  the  woman's 
address,  and  promised  to  call  upon  her  the  next  day.  Accord 
ingly  she  went,  but  no  such  person  lived  there,  or  could  be 


104  WOODCLIFF. 

heard  of  in  the  neighborhood.  Madeline  was  sadly  cha 
grined,  when  she  found  that  the  woman  had  told  such  a 
dreadful  falsehood. 

"  So  you  see,  my  dear,  it  is  not  best  to  give  money  at 
the  door ;  it  is  always  advisable  to  visit  such  cases. " 

"  What  a  shame  I  Aunt  Clara,  for  that  woman  to  be  so 
wicked ;  she  might  prevent  us  from  giving  to  one  who  is 
really  deserving." 

"  So  it  is,  my  dear ;  but  we  have  to  learn  some  very  sad 
lessons  in  this  wicked  world."  '  -.$• 

Madeline  frequently  visited  Lavinia,  not  because  she 
wished  to  do  so,  but  simply  on  the  ground  of  relationship, 
and  Lavinia  frequently  sent  for  her.  One  morning,  a  ser 
vant  rung  the  bell,  and  left  cards  for  Madeline  and  Lucy, 
from  Lavinia  Raymond  for  the  next  Tuesday  evening,  an 
nouncing  herself  at  home  at  eight  o'clock. 

"Aunt  Clara,  must  we  go  ?  I  don't  want  to  go  to  any 
such  parties  of  would-be  men  and  women." 

"I  suppose  that  you  must  go,  Maddy;  you  will  give 
great  offence  to  your  Aunt  Raymond,  if  you  do  not." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  dress  up  in  anything  but  a  simple 
muslin,  aunt,  and  if  she  don't  like  it,  I  don't  care." 

"  That  is  the  most  becoming  for  a  little  girl ;  it  is  what 
Lucy  will  wear." 

The  evening  arrived,  and  Lavinia  was  quite  shocked  at 
the  plebeian  simplicity  of  Madeline  and  Lucy. 

"  Why  did  you  not  wear  one  of  your  silk  dresses,  Made 
line  ?  this  is  a  full  dress  party.  I  think  you  might  have 
paid  me  the  compliment." 

"I  came  as  a  little  girl,  Lavinia,  not  as  a  young  lady." 

"  You  are  the  greatest  simpleton  that  I  ever  saw,  Made 
line,  with  a  father  rich  enough,  and  indulgent  enough  to 
give  you  anything  you  want,  and  you  care  no  more  for  dress 
than  a  little  country  girl." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am,  Lavinia." 

The  sight  of  so  many  over-dressed  children  aping  all  the 


BOSTON    RELATIVES.  105 

airs  and  graces  of  grown  men  and  women  amused  our  little 
girl,  and  no  sooner  was  she  at  home,  than  she  commenced 
mimicking  the  folly  that  she  had  witnessed. 

"Aunty,  there  was  one  of  the  most  terrible  gluttons  there 
among  these  would-be  ladies  that  I  ever  met  with.  She  ate 
of  everything  upon  the  table,  every  variety  of  ice-cream  and 
cake,  and  jelly,  and  confectionery;  she  ate  oysters,  and 
drank  champagne ;  and  to  crown  all,  she  filled  her  pockets 
with  choice  bon-bons ;  and  when  the  candied  fruit-basket 
was  broken,  took  her  share  of  that.  I  wonder  how  she  got 
home ;  I  know  that  she  was  deadly  sick,  for  she  looked  as 
pale  as  a  ghost.  I'd  rather  sail  on  the  lake  back  of  our 
house  with  two  or  three  little  girls,  than  go  to  a  dozen 
grand  parties  like  that.  You  ought  to  have  seen  Lavinia, 
Aunt  Clara,  flounced  to  the  waist,  quantities  of  jewelry, 
hair  dressed  by  a  fashionable  hair-dresser,  and  she  bowed 
and  courtsied  about  all  the  evening,  as  if  she  were  twenty- 
one,  instead  of  thirteen." 

"  My  dear  Madeline,  will  you  ever  remember  that  you 
were  entertained  last  evening  by  Lavinia,  and  that  you 
should  not  indulge  in  such  free  remarks  ?" 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Aunt  Clara ;  I  hate  affectation,  and  de 
spise  flirts;  a  flirting  child  is  perfectly  horrid." 

"  These  are  strong  expressions,  my  dear  child ;  I  do  not 
think  that  the  occasion  calls  for  them." 

"  I  expect,  aunt,  that  I  shall  have  to  take  Lavinia  home 
with  me.  Aunt  Raymond  hinted  it  last  night ;  but  I  must 
have  Lucy;  shan't  I,  Aunt  Clara?" 

"  "We  will  see,  my  dear;  I  should  like  Lucy  very  much 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  the  country.  I  think  that  she  needs 
the  change." 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  to-morrow  to  a  good  artist  ?  I 
promised  to  take  some  of  my  likenesses  home.  Mrs.  Bruce 
would  be  so  disappointed." 

"And  who  is  Mrs.  Bruce,  Maddy  ?" 

"  She  is  one  of  my  best  friends,  but  she  is  very  poor, 


106  WOODCLIFF. 

aunt;  she  has  to  do  plain  sewing,  and  go  to  market  for  her 
living ;  she  has  two  such  good  children,  one  named  Roland, 
he  is  so  good  and  so  wise ;  they  have  taught  me  so  much, 
Aunt  Clara ;  and  then  she  has  a  daughter  Effie,  such  a  dear 
girl ;  they  are  Scotch  people,  aunt,  you  would  like  them  so 
much." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Bruce  a  lady,  Maddy?"  asked  her  aunt. 

"A  lady,  aunt !  I  don't  know  what  to  say ;  she  has  no 
thing  that  any  other  lady  has ;  she  has  a  very  mean  home, 
common  clothes,  and  they  are  one  of  the  poorest  families 
around  Woodcliff ;  but  there  is  something  about  her,  aunt, 
not  at  all  like  the  common  poor ;  she  is  educated,  refined, 
polite,  pious — yes,  aunt,  she  must  be  a  lady — sometimes  I 
think  Roland  must  have  been  a  relation  to  the  great  Bruce, 
he  is  such  a  hero." 

Madeline  succeeded  in  getting  some  really  good  pictures 
of  herself;  giving  one  to  Aunt  Clara,  and  one  to  Aunt  Ray 
mond,  she  reserved  the  remainder  for  dear  friends  at  home. 

"  Here  is  a  letter,  Aunt  Clara,  from  dear  papa ;  he  will 
be  here  in  two  weeks,  and  says  that  Lavinia  and  Lucy  must 
be  ready  to  go  home  with  us  —  you  will  not  object,  dear 
aunt  ?" 

"No,  Maddy,  Lucy  can  go."  Madeline  was  very  happy 
at  the  idea  of  returning  to  Woodcliff,  though  sorry  to  leave 
her  beloved  aunt.  She  had  made  surprising  improvement 
on  the  harp,  and  regretted  the  loss  of  her  lessons. 

Mr.  Hamilton  had  but  a  short  time  to  stay ;  therefore,  on 
the  next  morning  after  his  arrival,  the  party  turned  iheir 
faces  towards  Woodcliff. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  aunt,"  sobbed  Maddy ;  "  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  the  sweet  lessons  I  have  learned  here ;  you 
will  keep  my  secret,  won't  you,  aunty  ?" 

"  You'll  come  to  me,  Maddy,  should  sorrow  overtake 
you ;  Aunt  Clara  always  has  a  warm  corner  at  her  hearth 
stone  for  her  little  niece." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

HOME   AGAIN. 

AND  so  they  drove  off.  Arrived  at  Woodcliff,  Maddy 
returned  to  her  old  pursuits  and  pleasures.  It  was  a  happy 
little  group  that  gathered  that  evening  at  the  widow's 
cottage.  Madeline,  anxious  to  take  the  promised  picture, 
invited  her  cousins  to  accompany  her. 

"Not  I,"  answered  Lavinia;  "you  must  really  excuse 
me ;  Lucy  can  do  as  she  pleases,  but  I  have  no  taste  for 
such  plebeian  associates." 

"  Every  one  to  her  taste,"  replied  Maddy.  "  Come,  Lucy, 
let  us  go." 

It  was  a  warm  welcome  that  was  extended  to  them,  and 
when  Madeline  handed  her  picture  to  Mrs.  Bruce, 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  child,"  was  the  quick  answer ;  "you 
could  have  brought  me  nothing  which  I  shall  so  much  value ; 
it  is  such  a  perfect  likeness." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  pleased,  Mrs.  Bruce ;  and  I  am 
so  happy  to  be  at  home  again." 

"  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  visit,  Madeline  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  have  learned  such  sweet  lessons  from 
my  precious  Aunt  Clara ;  she  is  so  good,  and  so  happy. 
She  lives  religion,  Mrs.  Bruce  ;  she  does  not  talk  it  as  some 
people  do  ;  but  pray  excuse  me,  and  here  is  my  cousin  Lucy 
who  has  come  down  to  stay  with  me." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  her  for  your  sake,  Madeline ;  but  here 
come  Roland  and  Effie  ;  how  glad  they  will  be  !" 

"  I'll  just  hide  behind  the  door,  don't  tell ;"  and  in  a 

(107) 


108  WOODCLIFF. 

minute  she  had  concealed  herself,  until  the  children  were 
fully  in  the  house. 

Suddenly  springing  out  from  her  concealment,  Erne 
could  not  restrain  her  joy,  and  folded  Maddy  in  a  heart- 
warm  embrace,  while  Roland,  with  beaming  eyes,  extended 
both  hands,  and  said,  with  deep  emotion,  "  You  are  wel 
come,  Maddy,  back  among  us.  Woodcliff  is  nothing  with 
out  you." 

Madeline  kept  her  young  friends  constantly  busy  going 
from  place  to  place,  and  showing  them  all  the  amusements 
around  the  Hall. 

Lucy  was  enchanted  ;  for,  being  simple-hearted,  nothing 
pleased  her  so  much  as  the  charming  scenes  of  nature  ;  but 
Lavinia's  tastes  were  so  much  perverted,  that  green  trees, 
shady  lanes,  quiet  skies,  and  even  the  grand  and  glorions 
ocean,  had  no  charms  for  her. 

One  afternoon,  the  three  girls,  accompanied  by  Hector, 
took  their  accustomed  walk  to  the  sea-shore.  Madeline 
was  in  high  spirits,  and  mounted  the  highest  rock,  leading 
her  cousins  after  her ;  she  skipped  about  from  point  to 
point,  and  at  last  clambered  down  the  sides  of  the  little 
cove,  which  was  easily  crossed  at  low  tide.  In  the  excite 
ment  of  their  play,  running  races  with  Hector,  they  had 
rambled  far  up  the  beach,  forgetting  entirely  the  rising  tide. 
Maddy,  in  her  wild  frolic,  had  taken  off  her  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  had  amused  herself  by  wading  in  the  water. 
Evening  was  approaching,  and  when  they  returned,  they 
found  it  impossible  to  cross;  the  tide  had  risen  so  high, 
that  the  cove  was  entirely  impassable.  Madeline  was  now 
alarmed,  for  there  was  no  other  way  of  return  but  by  the 
cove  ;  fortunately,  she  had  left  her  hat  tied  to  the  flag-staff, 
and  with  the  quickness  of  thought  she  called  Hector,  and 
throwing  a  stick  across  the  cove,  sent  him  in  search ;  he 
dashed  through  the  water,  and  stood  barking  loud  upon 
the  other  side,  for  he  seemed  to  understand  their  danger — 


HOME    AGAIN.  109 

up  and  down  he  ran,  then  up  to  the  top  of  the  rock  as  if  to 
search  for  some  one ;  at  last,  he  came  bounding  back,  as 
if  to  tell  good  news ;  his  bark  was  no  longer  one  of  alarm, 
it  was  one  of  joy. 

"  Hector  has  found  some  one,"  said  Madeline ;  "  I  know 
his  ways,  he  does  everything  but  talk.'' 

Lavinia  began  to  wring  her  hands.  "What  shall  we 
do  ?  we  can't  stay  here  all  night." 

"  I  should  not  like  it  much,  Lavinia,"  replied  Maddy ; 
"  but  I  think  that  somebody  is  coming.'' 

In  another  minute,  Roland  appeared  on  the  top  of  the 
rock. 

"Don't  be  alarmed;  I'll  bring  help  soon;"  and,  dashing 
through  the  water,  he  took  Madeline  in  his  arms,  saying, 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  I  can  carry  you ;  it  is  not  far  across, 
and  nothing  else  .can  be  done." 

The  water  by  this  time  had  reached  his  armpits,  but  as 
Madeline  kept  quiet,  be  succeeded  in  landing  her  in  safety 
on  the  other  side.  It  was  not  so  easy  to  carry  the  others. 
Lucy  was  older  and  larger,  but  willing  to  be  directed  by 
Roland,  she  also  crossed  in  safety ;  and  Hector  manifested 
his  joy  at  each  landing,  by  barking  loudly  and  licking  the 
hands  of  the  young  ladies,  especially  his  pet  Madeline. 

But  Lavinia's  folly  had  nearly  cost  her  life ;  first  by  her 
ridiculous  airs  while  the  water  was  rising,  then  her  fears 
about  her  delicate  dress,  then  her  squeamishness  about 
allowing  Roland  to  carry  her.  At  last,  he  had  to  say, 

"  There  is  not  another  minute  to  lose,"  and,  seizing 
Lavinia  without  her  consent,  he  commenced  the  crossing. 
The  water  was  now  above  his  shoulders ;  Lavinia  writhed, 
and  struggled,  and  screamed ;  Roland  tried  to  pacify  her, 
but  in  vain. 

"  I  cannot  hold  you,  miss,  unless  you  are  quiet." 

But  it  was  all  in  vain  —  and  in  the  struggle,  Roland 
tripped  in  the  water,  and  Lavinia  fell  from  his  arms  ;  for  a 
moment,  she  disappeared;  Roland,  too,  in  his  efforts  to 
10 


110  WOODCLIFF. 

reach  her,  was  struggling  under  the  water.  Hector  sprang 
into  the  water,  and  in  another  minute,  was  carrying  the 
silly  girl  to  the  shore. 

Madeline  was  in  agony,  her  cheek  pale  as  death,  for 
Roland  had  not  yet  risen ;  in  another  second,  her  fears 
were  relieved ;  he  regained  his  feet,  and  soon  reached  the 
shore  in  safety. 

Lavinia  was  dreadfully  frightened ;  her  mouth  filled  with 
sea-water,  and  her  clothes  drenched  with  the  bath. 

"  How  did  you  find  us,  Roland  ?"  asked  Maddy. 

"  Hector's  bark  alarmed  me ;  I  traced  you  by  your  shoes 
on  the  rock,  and  your  hat  upon  the  flag-staff." 

"  How  can  we  thank  you,  Roland  ?"  continued  the  child  ; 
"  what  should  we  have  done  without  you  ?" 

Lucy  too,  returned  her  thanks ;  but  Lavinia,  in  whose 
behalf  he  had  incurred  the  most  risk,  coldly  replied  : 

"  How  could  you  let  me  drop,  sir  ?  I  have  spoiled  my 
handsome  dress,  and  my  new  shoes." 

Roland  did  not  answer;  but  Madeline  replied  with  a 
flashing  eye, 

"  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Lavinia  Raymond  ? 
when  Roland  really  risked  his  life  to  save  yours.  Have 
you  no  thanks?" 

"  Thanks  for  what?  spoiling  my  beautiful  dress?" 

"  Lavinia  Raymond,  you  are  a  fool!  I  have  no  patience 
with  you !" 

"  Oh,  Maddy  !  don't  talk  so;  think  of  dear  Aunt  Clara," 
said  Lucy. 

"  She  makes  me  so  mad,  I  can't  help  it." 

Roland,  by  this  time,  had  disappeared,  having  gone  to 
one  of  the  cottages  on  the  beach,  and  found  that  Lavinia 
could  get  dry  clothes  there. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost;  the  party  hurried  to  the 
hut ;  Lavinia  had  to  endure  the  mortification  of  being 
dressed  in  the  clothes  of  the  fisherman's  daughter,  and  all 
the  party  to  ride  home  in  an  old  cart.  There  was  nothing 


HOME    AGAIN.  Ill 

else  to  be  done,  and  by  this  time,  our  changing,  impulsive 
Maddy  had  forgotten  all  her  indignation  towards  Lavinia, 
and  was  in  a  perfect  gale  of  merriment  at  the  ludicrous 
figure  which  they  made  in  the  old  ricketty  cart. 

"  Really,  Miss  Raymond,  no  one  would  know  you  in 
this  queer  dress.  We  would  make  a  fine  tableau,  would 
we  not,  Lucy?" 

It  was  some  time  before  Madeline  escaped  again  to  the 
shore,  for  her  father  was  really  alarmed  at  the  result  of  this 
dangerous  excursion. 

Maddy  began  to  long  for  her  harp  lessons.  Having 
confided  her  secret  to  Aunt  Matilda,  they  began  to  wonder 
how  they  should  continue  to  go  on  without  Mr.  Hamilton's 
knowledge.  Most  unexpectedly,  an  opportunity  offered. 

"  What  says  my  little  daughter  about  parting  with  papa 
for  a  few  months  ?"  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"Why,  papa;  where  are  you  going?"  replied  the  child. 

"  I  am  called,  suddenly,  to  Europe,  and  will  be  gone 
four  or  five  months." 

"  How  can  we  do  without  you,  papa  ?" 

"  The  time  will  pass  very  rapidly,  Maddy ;  you  will  still 
continue  at  school,  and  Mademoiselle  will  go  on  with  the 
French  lessons  at  home." 

The  next  week  Mr.  Hamilton  departed.  Aunt  Matilda 
hired  a  harp  from  Boston,  and  engaged  the  same  teacher 
to  come  twice  a  week  to  give  lessons,  as  there  was  a 
railroad  sufficiently  near  to  make  this  practicable.  Made 
line  devoted  herself  most  assiduously  to  her  music  lessons, 
for  she  was  determined  to  surprise  her  father  on  his  return. 
Her  talent  was  remarkable,  and  progress  accordingly  rapid. 

She  was  so  much  occupied,  that  she  saw  but  little  of  the 
Braces,  for  during  the  stay  of  her  cousins,  her  father 
had  given  her  permission  to  stay  from  school.  Roland 
missed  his  little  friend,  and  wondered  what  was  keeping 
her  so  long  away.  Still,  occasionally  he  met  her  on  her 
a««-ustomed  walks  and  rides,  but  always  in  company  with 


112  WOODCLIFF. 

her  young  friends,  and  a  passing  bow  or  smile  was  all  that 
he  received. 

One  autumn  evening,  however,  in  his  rambles,  Madeline 
suddenly  stood  before  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  Roland?"  said  the  child,  extending 
her  hand,  "  it  seems  so  long  since  we  have  had  one  of  our 
pleasant  chats." 

"  How  long  will  your  friends  stay,  Maddy  ?" 

"  Some  weeks  longer,  Roland,  and  I  am  so  busy ;  do  you 
know  that  I  am  taking  harp  lessons  to  surprise  papa  ?  He 
will  be  gone  some  months  yet,  and  when  he  returns  I  shall 
be  able  to  play.  Would  you  like  to  hear  me,  Roland  ?" 

"  Yes,  Madeline,  if  it  were  possible." 

"  How  did  you  spend  your  time  when  I  was  in  Boston, 
Roland  ?" 

"  I  went  regularly  to  Woodcliff  every  Saturday,  and  took 
advantage  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  permission  to  use  his  library, 
and  all  the  leisure  moments  I  had,  I  employed  in  reading ; 
it  was  not  much,  but  I  used  to  sit  up  one  hour  later,  and 
thus  read  a  great  deal." 

"  What  books  did  you  choose,  Roland  ?" 

"  The  lives  of  wise  and  good  men,  Maddy,  especially  such 
as  had  to  endure  hardships  in  their  youth  ;  and  I  found  that 
most  of  these  great  men  had  to  struggle  in  their  early  years  ; 
and  I  found  too,  Maddy,  that  those  who  left  the  brightest 
mark  in  the  world  were  believers  in  the  blessed  Bible ; 
others  made  impressions  while  they  lived,  but  they  are 
almost  forgotten  now ;  but  Christian  philosophers  and 
statesmen  are  those  whom  God  honors." 

"  How  is  it,  Roland,  that  all  your  thoughts  and  words 
seem  filled  with  the  Bible  ?  Other  boys  are  not  like  you.'' 

"  Because  it  was  my  daily  food  ;  rising  up,  and  lying  down, 
in  the  house,  and  by  the  wayside,  it  is,  Maddy,  our  house 
hold  book ;  and  you  need  not  wonder  that  all  my  life  has 
been  so  constantly  under  the  power  of  its  heavenly  truths." 

"  I  wish  that  I  loved  the  Bible  as  you  do,  Roland ;  I 


HOME    AGAIN.  113 

have  seen  so  much  of  its  power  at  dear  Aunt  Clara's — she 
is  such  a  lovely  Christian  ;  but  I  love  to  read  other  books 
so  much  better  —  will  you  come  up  next  Saturday,  Ro 
land  ?» 

"  Yes,  Maddy,  I  have  a  book  to  bring  home — will  you 
not  let  me  hear  some  of  your  music  then?" 

"  Certainly  —  I  know  two  or  three  pretty  pieces  which  I 
think  you  will  like  so  much." 

"  I  must  go  now,  Maddy,  for  my  mother  will  want  me  ; 
good-bye,  get  ready  to  come  to  school  soon  ;"  and  with  these 
words,  Roland  turned  towards  his  home. 

Saturday  came,  and  Madeline  was  tuning  her  harp  at  an 
early  hour,  in  expectation  of  her  young  friend. 

When  Roland  arrived,  she  was  practising  one  of  her  sweet 
est  pieces,  and  calling  him  into  the  parlor,  she  played  all 
that  she  knew,  while  Roland  stood  enchanted  with  the 
music  that  he  had  never  heard  before. 

"  I  have  learned  one  hymn,  Roland,  for  you,  because  I 
knew  that  you  like  sacred  music ;"  and  she  sang  with 
touching  sweetness  an  evening  hymn. 

Lavinia  Raymond  was  watching  outside  of  the  piazza 
the  performance  in  the  parlor,  and  as  Roland  passed  out  on 
his  way  home,  the  sneer  with  which  she  greeted  him,  was 
but  a  repetition  of  the  insolence  of  other  meetings. 

"  Madeline,  are  you  really  such  a  dunce  as  to  let  yourself 
down  to  that  beggar  boy  ?"  asked  Lavinia,  as  she  entered 
the  house. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Lavinia ;  the  Bruces  are  my  friends,  poor 
as  they  are ;  I  honor  and  love  them  all,  and  you  shall  not 
sneer  at  them  when  I  am  near  —  you  are  not  worthy  to 
mention  even  the  name  of  a  Bruce." 

"  Quite  theatrical,  Madeline ! — you  would  make  an  excel 
lent  actress ;  the  flashing  eye,  the  glowing  cheek,  the  lofty 
head,  and  the  proud  step  would  very  well  suit  a  queen." 

"  Be  silent,  Lavinia,  I  will  not  submit  to  your  insolence ;'' 
and  Madeline  haughtily  left  the  room. 
10* 


114  WOODCLIFF. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  entered,  and  extending  her  hand, 
said, 

"  Lavinia,  forgive  me ;  I  was  very  rude  to  a  guest,  but 
you  provoked  me." 

"  You  may  enjoy  your  friends  for  me,  Madeline ;  but  I 
must  say  that  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  throwing  your  atten 
tions  away  upon  plebeians." 

"  I  am  not  doing  so,  Lavinia ;  it  makes  me  happy  to  do 
anything  for  people  so  good  as  they  are,  for  I  do  believe 
that  they  are  the  real  children  of  God.  I  would  that  I 
were  half  so  good." 


CHAPTER  X. 

SUNSHINE   AT    THE   HALL ;    SHADOWS   AT    THE    COTTAGE. 

MORNING,  noon,  and  night,  was  Madeline  inventing  some 
new  scheme  of  fun  and  frolic,  never,  however,  neglecting 
her  harp. 

Mademoiselle  generally  managed  to  get  about  half  of  her 
lessons ;  Aunt  Matilda  did  not  interfere,  for  Maddy  had 
company,  and  could  not  be  expected  to  study  much. 

"  You  know,  aunt,  that  it  would  be  the  height  of  impo 
liteness,  and  I  could  not  expect  the  girls  to  take  lessons  ;  to 
be  sure,  Lucy  does,  as  a  matter  of  choice." 

This  was  sufficient,  and  Madeline's  all-powerful  argu 
ments  prevailed. 

Poor  M'lle  Fouladoux  was  often  sorely  tried,  and  Fanfan 
was  her  only  comfort. 

Occupied  with  her  young  friends,  Madeline  knew  but 
little  of  the  shadows  gathering  over  her  friends  at  the 
cottage. 

It  was  all  sunshine  at  Woodcliff;  for  thus  far,  Maddy 's 
life  had  been  all  a  bright  summer  day ;  but  it  would  have 
been  quickly  dimmed,  if  the  young  heiress  had  known  the 
sorrows  that  were  threatening  her  humble  friends. 

Mr.  Hamilton  had  formerly  lived  in  the  South,  and 
having  freed  the  servants  who  lived  with  him,  he  had 
brought  his  house-domestics  to  his  Northern  home.  They 
were  strongly  attached  to  their  master's  family,  and  Made 
line,  especially,  was  their  idol. 

(115) 


116  WOODCLIPF. 

Nanny  thought  nothing  could  surpass  her  young  mistress 
in  beauty,  or  grace,  or  smartness,  and  many  a  cup  of  flat 
tery  was  administered  by  this  faithful,  but  foolish  servant. 

"  Girls,  I  think  that  we  shall  have  some  rare  sport  this 
fall ;  Jim,  the  coachman,  is  quite  smitten  with  our  Nanny ; 
they  shall  have  a  wedding,  and  I'll  be  mistress  of  the  cere 
monies.  You  ought  to  see  the  darkies  dance ;"  and  Made 
line  mimicked  to  the  life  what  she  had  often  seen  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  Will  they  be  married  here  ?"  inquired  Lavinia. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  they  shall  be  married  in  our  dining-room, 
and  I'll  dress  Nanny's  head  myself." 

Madeline  watched  her  opportunity,  and  questioned  Nanny 
about  the  affair. 

"  Lor'  bless  you,  young  missus,  what  put  this  ere  in  your 
head?  Jim  is  jest  a  perticelar  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Nanny ;  you  need  not  try  to  deceive  me," 
answered  the  child. 

"  Well,  Miss  Maddy,  what  do  you  all  think  of  Jim  ?" 

"He's  a  clever  fellow,  Nanny,  and  we  are  all  willing." 

"Well,  then,  Miss,  I  mout  as  well  tell;  we  are  gwan  to 
be  married  in  about  a  month." 

"  You  shall  have  a  nice  wedding,  Nanny ;  I'll  give  you 
your  wedding  suit;  you  shall  be  married  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  get  your  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen,  and  you  shall 
have  a  grand  time,  Nanny." 

Maddy  was  a  busy  little  bee  during  the  next  month ;  the 
evening  at  length  arrived,  and  the  guests  assembled  in  the 
dining-room  waiting  for  the  bride  and  groom.  Maddy  had 
been  superintending  the  bride's  dress ;  but  having  com 
pleted  that,  with  her  cousins,  joined  the  company  in  the 
parlor.  The  minister  stood  waiting  at  the  head  of  the 
room.  At  length  the  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen  appeared, 
then  Nanny  and  the  groom.  She  was  dressed  in  white, 
with  low  neck  and  short  sleeves,  and  her  head  encircled  by 
a  wreath  of  large  red  roses.  The  ceremony  proceeded. 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  117 

When  about  half  through,  Jim,  supposing  it  ended,  turned 
to  kiss  his  bride. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  the  minister. 

"  Oh,  well !  so  far,  so  good.     Go  on,  Massa." 

When  the  ceremony  was  ended,  they  took  their  seats 
among  the  congratulations  of  their  numerous  colored  friends, 
and  with  the  imitative  quickness  of  their  race,  the  manners 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  most  amusingly  copied  in 
Mr.  Hamilton's  dining  room. 

"  Why,  Miss  Nanny,  you're  quite  brilliance  to-night," 
said  one  of  the  groomsmen. 

"  Who  are  you  calling  Miss  Nanny,  Bill  ?"  said  the  other 
groomsman,  tittering,  "that  is  Miss  Roberts  now." 

Nanny  hung  her  head  bashfully,  and,  looking  up  at  Jim, 
said, 

"  That  name  sounds  mighty  quar." 

About  ten  o'clock,  a  nice  supper  was  announced  in  the 
servants'  sitting  room,  and  it  was  really  amusing  to  our 
young  folks,  to  see  the  airs  with  which  the  colored  gentle 
men  handed  out  the  belles  to  the  supper  table. 

"  We're  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Madeline,"  said 
Jim,  "for  this  party,  for  we  know  that  you  got  it  up  for 
us." 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  make  Nanny  a  good  husband,  Jim, 
for  she  is  a  good  girl.  I  won't  let  you  be  cross  to  her." 

After  supper,  a  number  of  songs  enlivened  the  evening, 
and  a  serenade  at  a  late  hour,  in  which  four  voices  joined, 
wound  up  the  affair. 

Madeline  had  heard  nothing  of  the  Bruces  for  several 
weeks,  excepting  by  a  few  casual  words  in  the  Sunday- 
school  room,  for  Lucy  and  she  still  attended.  On  the  fol 
lowing  Sunday  morning,  Maddy  thought  that  Roland 
looked  very  sad,  and  Effie  was  not  present. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Roland  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"  Oh,  Madeline !  dear  mother  is  so  sick  ;  she  seems  to  be 
growing  weaker  every  day." 


118  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Don't  get  disheartened,  Roland ;  you  know  what  you 
have  often  said  to  me,  '  Look  up  for  help.' " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Madeline ;  but  the  loss  of  my  mother 
would  be  such  a  great  calamity,  that  I  cannot  always  look 
up.  Sometimes,  I  cannot  trust  the  promises;  then  I  get  so 
weak,  I  can  scarcely  hold  up  my  head." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Roland.  Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do 
for  her  ?" 

"  Come  and  see  her,  Madeline,  that  would  cheer  her 
up." 

"  I  have  been  detained  by  company,  Roland,  that  is  all 
the  reason." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  we  can't  expect  you  to  leave  them 
often." 

"I  will  come  soon,  Roland;  I  am  so  very  sorry." 

Madeline  kept  her  word,  but  her  high  spirits  were  sud 
denly  saddened,  when  she  saw  the  pale  face  and  trembling 
hands  of  her  kind  friend.  Mrs.  Bruce  was  sitting  up  en 
deavoring  to  sew,  but  the  marks  of  languor  were  so  appa 
rent,  that  a  chill  settled  around  Maddy's  heart,  and  she 
feared  that  Roland  must  soon  lose  this  dear  mother." 

"  You  are  not  well,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  said  the  child,  as  she 
took  her  friend's  extended  hand. 

"  No,  my  dear,  flesh  and  heart  are  failing ;  but '  God  is 
the  strength  of  my  heart,  and  my  portion  for  evermore.' 
While  he  is  left,  I  am  perfectly  at  peace." 

Madeline  looked  upon  the  placid  face,  and  the  sweet 
smile  of  trusting  faith  that  lit  the  features  of  her  friend, 
and  thought  how  precious  was  that  holy  trust. 

"  I  know  now,  Mrs.  Bruce,  what  you  mean  by  looking 
up;  how  happy  you  must  be." 

"  If  I  looked  down  upon  myself,  Maddy,  with  all  my 
weakness  and  sin ;  or  if  I  looked  upon  my  dear  children, 
who  may  soon  be  left  motherless,  my  heart  would  sink; 
but  when  I  look  upward  at  the  rest  in  store  for  those  who 
love  God,  and  at  the  sure  promises  to  the  children  of  the 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  119 

righteous,  I  can  even  rejoice   in  tribulation,  because,  my 
dear,  they  work  patience,  experience,  and  hope." 

Madeline  glanced  at  Roland  and  Effie — the  former  was 
regarding  his  mother  with  a  look  of  loving  reverence,  as 
though  he  partook  of  her  lofty  hope ;  but  poor,  delicate  * 
Effie  sat  with  her  head  bowed  upon  her  hands,  and  the 
big  tears  rolling  down  her  sweet  face.  Madeline  drew  the 
weeping  child  towards  her,  and,  passing  her  arm  around 
her,  whispered, 

"  Don't  cry  so,  Effie ;  your  mother  may  get  better,  and 
we  will  always  be  your  friends." 

"  I  know  that,  Madeline ;  but  where  shall  I  ever  find 
another  mother?" 

Maddy  returned  with  a  saddened  spirit,  for  with  all  her 
sanguine  nature,  she  could  not  but  fear  that  deep  sorrow 
was  settling  around  the  cottage  household.  Not  a  day 
passed,  without  some  little  delicacy  from  Woodcliff ;  some 
times  by  Madeline's  own  band,  or  else  sent  by  a  servant. 

Lucy  frequently  accompanied  her  cousin  in  her  visits,  but 
Lavinia  never — she  could  not  stoop  to  such  a  condescension. 

In  all  her  letters  to  her  father,  Maddy  never  forgot  her 
humble  friends,  and,  in  return,  Mr.  Hamilton  directed  that 
every  comfort  should  be  supplied  to  the  declining  mother. 

After  a  few  weeks,  Mrs.  Bruce  appeared  to  rally  once 
more,  and  hope  revived  the  spirits  of  all  who  loved  her. 
Madeline  especially  was  greatly  elated,  and  was  sure  that 
her  dear  friend  was  recovering.  With  the  revival  of  her 
hopes,  her  high  spirits  rose  again. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Roland,  your  mother  will  soon  re 
cover,''  and  Maddy  yielded  to  the  delusion  with  full  con 
fidence. 

Roland  was  now  called  to  bear  a  heavy  burden,  for  the 
support  of  the  family  fell  chiefly  upon  him.  Busy  in  their 
little  garden,  he  toiled  with  a  cheerful  spirit,  and  found  his 
donkey  and  cart  a  great  treasure,  for  now  he  could  go  into 
market  three  times  a  week  with  the  produce  of  his  little 


120  WOODCLIFF. 

plot  of  ground.  It  pained  him  sorely  to  leave  school,  but 
duty  called,  and  the  obedient  spirit  submitted.  The  deli 
cacies  from  the  Hall  kept  his  mother  well  supplied,  and 
with  the  strong  faith  of  a  Gordon,  he  could  labor,  wait,  and 
even  rejoice.  The  boy  of  seventeen,  under  the  discipline 
of  trial,  and  the  teaching  of  a  holy  mother,  seemed  to  have 
reached  the  maturity  of  riper  years ;  and  Mrs.  Bruce  felt 
that  she  might  lean  upon  him  with  affectionate  trust,  as  the 
instrument  which  God  had  chosen  to  cheer  her  declining 
days. 

Autumn  was  now  rapidly  closing  around  them,  and 
Madeline,  with  her  elastic  step  and  bird-like  voice,  fre 
quently  crossed  the  door-sill  of  the  cottage,  always  lighting 
it  up  with  her  bright,  hopeful  face,  and  leaving  behind  her 
the  sweet  echoes  of  her  own  joyous  nature. 

Full  of  hope  for  her  friends,  her  merry  spirit  kept  the 
family  all  alive  at  the  Hall.  Her  young  friends  were  to 
stay  until  Christmas,  and  Madeline  promised  them  great 
sport  should  there  be  snow  enough  for  a  sleigh-ride. 

Tony  Willikins,  her  warm  admirer  at  school,  often  stepped 
in  at  Woodcliff  to  pay  his  respects,  and  having  seen 
Mademoiselle  at  church,  and  met  her  occasionally  in  her 
walks  with  Madeline,  that  prankish  little  girl  had  contrived 
to  bring  about  quite  an  intimacy  between  the  two.  Many 
a  bouquet  that  was  sent  for  Madeline  was  conveyed  to 
Mademoiselle,  with  Tony's  compliments  ;  and  Tony  him 
self  was  often  chagrined,  on  seeing  the  French  teacher 
innocently  wearing  the  flowers  intended  for  the  roguish 
child. 

Tony  had  somehow  learned  a  few  French  phrases,  and, 
much  to  the  amusement  of  onr  young  friends,  he  made  a 
barbarous  use  of  his  slim  stock  of  language,  not  at  all 
aware  of  his  false  pronunciation. 

His  salutation  of  "  Maddymorthelle,"  always  set  our 
young  friend  in  a  titter ;  and  his  persevering  efforts  taxed 
Mademoiselle's  French  politeness  to  the  utmost. 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  121 

Poor  Tony  was  a  complete  butt  for  Madeline  and  Lavinia, 
and  many  a  joke  did  they  play  upon  the  unconscious  youth. 

One  afternoon,  Tony  paid  them  a  visit  in  what  he  con 
sidered  splendid  costume. 

He  had  been  told  that  small-clothes  were  to  be  the 
fashion  that  winter,  so,  to  be  ahead  of  all  others,  had 
ordered  a  new  suit  of  clothes ;  and  presented  himself  at 
Woodcliff  in  black  tights,  with  black  silk  stockings,  pumps, 
silver  knee  and  shoe  buckles,  and,  to  crown  all,  a  pair  of 
blue  glasses,  which  he  had  been  told  was  becoming;  he 
wore  also  a  fancy-colored  guard  ribbon,  and  a  diamond  pin. 
Tony  thought  himself  irresistible ;  and  when  Madeline 
entered  the  parlor,  and  saw  the  ludicrous  figure,  it  was 
next  to  impossible  to  restrain  her  laughter. 

At  that  moment,  fortunately,  Fanfan  performed  some  of 
ner  amusing  pranks,  which  gave  Maddy  an  opportunity  of 
indulging  her  risible  faculties,  and  if  Tony  had  not  been 
such  a  weak  youth,  he  might  have  seen  that  the  laugh 
continued  much  longer  than  Fanfan's  oft-repeated  tricks 
could  call  forth. 

"  Mith  Madeline,  I  want  to  thow  you  my  new  guard 
ribbonth,"  and  Tony  opened  a  package  which  contained 
every  imaginable  color. 

"  Which  do  you  think  the  prettieth,  mith  ?" 

"  I  like  blue  ;  that  is  my  favorite  color." 

Immediately  Tony  changed  his  scarlet  guard  for  a  blue 
one ;  and,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  young  girls,  he 
continued, 

"  Blue  ith  my  color  now." 

"Won't  you  sing,  Tony?"  asked  Madeline. 

"  Yeth,  if  Maddymorthelle  will  play  for  me.  What 
shall  1  thing,  mith  ?" 

"  '  How  can  I  leave  thee  !'  "  answered  Madeline,  with  a 
merry  twinkle. 

"That  is  tho  affecting,  mith;  I  am  afraid  that  I  can't 
get  through  it,  but  I'll  try." 
11 


122  WOODCLIFF. 

Mademoiselle  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  Tony  com 
menced  with  a  lisping,  languishing  tone  to  sing.  Madeline 
was  convulsed  with  laughter ;  and  Tony,  who  saw  her 
handkerchief  covering  her  face,  thought  that  she  was 
deeply  affected,  and  said, 

"  We  had  better  not  finith  the  thong,  Maddymorthelle ; 
it  affecth  Mith  Maddyth'  nervth." 

Madeline  could  stand  no  more  ;  jumping  up,  she  ran  out 
of  the  room  to  indulge  her  burst  of  laughter,  which  could 
no  longer  be  restrained. 

Lucy  did  not  sympathize  with  the  jokes  played  upon 
Tony,  for  his  weakness  was  his  misfortune ;  and  with  her 
correct  principles,  she  could  no  more*ridicule  that,  than  she 
could  a  blind,  deaf,  or  lame  man;  but  Madeline  had  not 
yet  learned  to  ask  about  the  right  or  wrong  of  an  action, 
the  impulses  of  the  moment  yet  ruled  the  child.  Some 
times,  the  thought  would  cross  her  mind,  that  it  might  not 
be  just  right,  but  the  love  of  fun  prevailed  over  her  light 
scruples.  *  *  *  *  * 

The  cold  increased,  and  one  morning,  Madeline  ran  into 
Lavinia's  room,  saying, 

"  Get  up,  Lavinia,  here  is  a  grand  snow-storm !  Now 
for  our  promised  ride." 

They  watched  the  progress  of  the  storm  anxiously ;  all 
day  and  night  it  continued,  and  by  the  next  morning,  the 
sleighs  began  to  fly  around  the  neighborhood. 

At  that  moment,  a  sleigh  stopped,  and  Tony,  dismount 
ing,  invited  the  young  ladies  to  take  a  ride. 

"  I  will  call  about  four  o'clock,  and  we  will  ride  up  to  the 
White  Houth,  take  thupper,  and  return  by  moonlight." 

Maddy  ran  to  her  aunt  to  obtain  her  consent,  which  was 
given  on  condition  that  she  should  make  one  of  the  party. 

Accordingly,  at  the  appointed  hour,  furred,  tippeted,  and 
well  protected  from  the  cold,  our  party  set  off  in  high  glee. 

"  You  can  manage  those  spirited  horses,  I  hope,  Tony  ?" 
said  Aunt  Matilda. 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  123 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  ma'am ;  I  have  driven  them  many  a 
mile,  and  never  had  an  acthident  yet.'' 

The  ride  was  splendid,  Madeline  in  wild  spirits,  and  the 
whole  party  affected  by  her  merry  sallies. 

Arrived  at  the  White  House,  Tony  ordered  a  supper,  and, 
after  a  lively  dance  in  one  of  the  parlors,  in  which  all 
joined  but  Lucy,  they  sat  down  to  a  nice  supper,  and  then 
started  for  home. 

There  was  a  number  of  sleighs  on  the  road,  all  travelling 
at  full  speed ;  Tony's  animals  were  not  to  be  passed.  A 
large  sleigh  came  dashing  by.  Tony  tried  to  check  the 
wild  animals,  but  all  in  vain  —  on  they  rushed.  Miss 
Matilda  was  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

Utterly  unable  to  manage  them,  they  galloped  on  madly, 
till,  bringing  up  on  a  snow-bank,  they  upset  the  party  on 
the  road-side,  and  raced  furiously  on,  until  overtaken  by 
several  men,  who  came  to  the  rescue,  and,  after  some  time, 
succeeded  in  quieting  the  excited  horses. 

Miss  Matilda  was  in  a  state  of  dreadful  alarm ;  Made 
moiselle  Fouladoux  deploring  the  condition  of  little  Fanfan, 
who  had  accompanied  the  party  ;  Madeline  laughing  at  the 
adventure  ;  Lavinia  provoked ;  and  Lucy  quietly  awaiting 
the  return  of  Tony. 

When  the  youth  at  length  appeared,  Mademoiselle  threw 
up  her  hands,  exclaiming,  piteously, 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Willikins !  take  us  home ;  ma  pauvre 
Fanfan  will  take  a  dreadful  cold." 

Tony  wrapped  the  dog  up  in  his  foot  muff,  and  proceeded 
home  as  rapidly  as  they  could  go  with  safety. 

"We  have  had  a  jolly  time,  Mademoiselle,"  exclaimed 
Madeline.  "  I  think  the  upset  was  the  best  part ;  none  of 
us  were  hurt,  and  it  was  only  a  good  joke  after  all." 

Little  did  Maddy  know  of  the  sorrow  that  was  wringing 
the  young  hearts  at  the  cottage.  Not  having  heard  for 
several  days,  the  next  morning  Madeline  started  to  see  her 
friends.  On  entering  the  house,  no  one  was  visible  ;  all 


124  WOODCLIFF. 

was  quiet,  and  she  proceeded  up  stairs  to  the  widow's 
chamber.  Propped  up  with  pillows,  with  a  face  as  pale  as 
the  white  sheet,  and  laboring  for  breath,  she  beheld  her 
humble  friend.  Effie  was  sitting  on  one  side  of  the  bed, 
dose  to  her  mother,  and  Roland  was  reading  the  Bible  to 
his  declining  parent. 

"'Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled;  ye  believe  in  God, 
believe  also  in  me;  in  my  Father's  house  are  many  man 
sions.'"  He  stopped  for  one  moment,  but  Madeline  said, 
"  Go  on,  Roland ;"  and,  with  his  own  rich  voice,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  repeat  a  Psalm,  "  '  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto 
the  hills  from  whence  cometh  my  help.' " 

"My  help  cometh  even  from  the  Lord,  who  hath  made 
heaven  and  earth,"  responded  the  mother,  with  uplifted 
eyes  and  hands  clasped  over  her  panting  breast. 

"  Come  here,  Madeline,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  fading 
Christian  ;  "you  see  that  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  shall 
go  home,  and  be  no  more  seen ;  but  remember  what  I  tell 
you,  that  God  is  a  sufficient  refuge  in  this  hour  of  trial,  and 
the  Saviour  of  sinners  my  all  in  all !" 

"  Can  you  look  up  still,  dear  Mrs.  Bruce  ?"  asked  Made 
line,  with  deep  solemnity. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  child  ;  I  know  that  he  that  keepeth  Israel 
shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep.  '  He  will  not  suffer  the 
sun  to  smite  thee  by  day,  nor  the  moon  by  night,'  that  is 
the  promise,  Maddy,  and  I  believe  it  with  all  my  heart ; 
'  his  rod  and  his  staff  they  comfort  me.' " 

"  You  will  get  better  yet,  Mrs.  Bruce,  I  am  sure,"  an 
swered  the  child,  "for  I  know  that  Roland  and  Effie  pray 
for  you,  and  God  has  promised  to  answer  prayer." 

"  Yes,  he  will  answer  us,  when  we  ask  with  submission 
to  his  will ;  his  will  now  is  made  clear  and  plain,  my  days 
on  earth  are  drawing  swiftly  to  a  close.  I  am  ready  and 
willing  to  depart  and  be  with  Jesus,  which  is  far  better 
than  to  stay  here ;  but  to  leave  my  darlings,  Maddy,  is  a 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  125 

sore  triai.     You  will  not   forget   them,  dear,  when  I  am 
gone." 

"  Forget  your  children !  Never !  I  know  none  that  I 
love  so  well ;  and  so  long  as  I  live,  they  will  find  me,  little 
Madeline,  their  true  friend." 

"Bless  you!  my  dear  child,  for  those  kind  words;  they 
cheer  my  heart.  I  look  upon  them  as  an  answer  to  mj 
prayer ;  for  this  morning  there  was  an  hour  of  darkness, 
when  I  thought  of  them,  especially  of  Effie ;  but  now  I  can 
keep  my  eyes  fixed  upon  Heaven,  and  bid  adieu  forever  to 
earthly  cares." 

Effie  was  weeping  bitterly,  her  mother  turned  her  face 
towards  her  and  said, 

"  Do  not  distrust  our  Heavenly  Father,  my  child ;  he 
will  comfort  and  sustain  you ;  he  has  sent  this  dear  little 
friend  to  us  in  our  hour  of  sorrow."  Turning  to  Madeline, 
she  continued,  "  Tell  your  father,  Maddy,  that  we  shall 
never  forget  his  kindness ;  for  weeks  your  family  physician 
has  been  attending  me,  sent  by  your  father ;  he  has  done 
all  that  he  can,  but  vain  is  the  help  of  man." 

Madeline  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  lesson  of  that 
solemn  hour,  for  she  had  never  been  so  near  the  presence 
of  death  before.  From  that  hour,  she  spared  no  pains  to 
administer  to  the  comfort  of  her  precious  friend. 

Betty,  the  old  cook,  was  a  kind-hearted  woman,  and 
daily  prepared  some  little  delicacy  grateful  to  the  invalid, 
which  Madeline  and  Lucy  took  with  their  own  hands. 

Deep  was  the  sorrow  settling  down  upon  the  heart  of 
Roland  Bruce  ;  for  his  mother  was  parent,  friend,  guide — • 
his  only  earthly  stay.  When  he  looked  into  the  wilderness 
of  life  without  his  mother,  it  did  indeed  seem  a  desolate, 
dreary  waste.  He  sat  looking  upon  the  pale  face  regarding 
him  with  such  a  look  of  unutterable  love. 

"  Roland,  come  sit  by  me ;  I  have  much  to  say  to  you 
while  I  have  strength  to  speak." 

He  arose  and  seated  himself  close  by  his  mother's  side. 
11* 


126  WOODCLIFF. 

"  You  are  seventeen  now,  my  son,  with  almost  the  cha 
racter  of  a  man ;  and,  blessed  be  God !  I  believe  that  you 
are  his  dear  child." 

Roland  took  his  mother's  hand,  and  while  tears  rained 
over  it,  he  replied, 

"  To  you,  dear  mother,  under  God,  I  owe  all  that  I  am. 
I  can  never  forget  the  lessons  of  wisdom,  truth,  trust  in 
God,  and  heroic  endurance  that  you  have  taught  me  by  ex 
amples  from  the  Bible,  from  the  world,  and  especially  from 
our  own  honored  race." 

"  You  must  never  forget  your  lineage,  Roland ;  you  are 
not  descended  from  those  who  derive  their  greatness  from 
outward  show,  magnificent  adornment,  or  the  pomp  and 
equipage  of  courts.  Your  ancestors  were  trained  in  the 
humble  manse,  in  the  lowly  cottage,  among  the  rude  moun 
tains  of  Scotland,  and  their  grandeur  was  moral  only.  They 
were  born  in  the  days  when  to  be  a  spiritual  Christian  was 
to  hold  life  very  cheap — the  spirit  of  those  days  has  always 
distinguished  our  race,  for  in  every  generation,  there  has 
been  a  witness  for  God  among  the  Gordons." 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  it,  mother,"  answered  Roland. 
"  I  think  it  is  that  which  makes  me  think  so  little  of  the 
pomp  of  this  world.  I  have  never  felt  at  all  impressed  by 
what  I  have  seen  at  Woodcliff,  because  I  contrast  it  all 
with  the  humble  tomb-stone  in  that  Scottish  glen,  and  with 
all  else  that  you  have  told  me  of  the  name  of  Gordon." 

"  I  believe,  my  son,  that  God  destines  you  for  something 
good  and  great.  Roland,  remember  what  I  mean  by  great ; 
not  rich  or  grand  in  earthly  goods,  or  even  in  intellectual 
culture  merely,  but  great  in  deeds  of  benefit  to  your  race ; 
in  order  to  reach  that  point,  spare  no  pains  to  obtain  a  good 
education." 

"  How  shall  I,  mother?  it. is  what  I  long  for;  but  I  have 
no  money,  no  means,  no  influence.  I  am  all  alone." 

"  Where  there  is  a  will,  there  is  a  way,  Roland.  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  have  money  or  influential  friends ;  I  want 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  121 

you  to  have  trust  in  God ;  this  is  the  motto  I  leave  with 
you,  my  son,  'Looking  aloft;'  remember  it  is  your  dying 
mother's  motto ;  when  discouraged,  turn  to  that,  and  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  prosper." 

"Oh,  mother!  how  shall  I  live  without  you?  your  voice 
is  like  a  trumpet  to  me  ;  it  stirs  the  very  depths  of  my  soul ; 
and  when  you  speak,  it  seems  as  if  I  could  dare  anything. 
I  never  shall  forget  my  feelings  when  you  bade  me  read 
the  inscription  on  the  tomb-stone  of  our  martyred  ancestors  ; 
my  soul  seemed  to  take  a  great  leap,  and  really  to  swell 
within  my  childish  form.  I  felt  as  if  I  never  could  be  low, 
or  mean,  or  grovelling  after  that,  and  so  I  feel  to-day ;  but 
what  will  it  be  when  you  are  gone  ?"  and  Roland  bowed 
his  head  and  wept. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  head  and  said :  "  When  I  am 
gone,  Roland,  these  memories  will  be  with  you,  I  know,  '  to 
keep  your  soul  from  blight.'  I  have  perfect  confidence  that 
God  will  keep  his  promise  to  me,  and  to  you ;  he  will  £uide 
you,  I  am  sure ;  and  though  you  may  have  sore  trials,  he 
will  sustain  my  Roland,  and. make  him  a  blessing  to  the 
world — too  many  twilight  hours  of  consecration,  too  many 
seasons  of  dedication  has  my  Father  witnessed  when  Ro 
land's  name  was  itself  a  prayer,  to  allow  one  moment's 
doubt — not  one  of  those  sacred  hours  will  ever  be  forgotten 
by  our  covenant-keeping  God." 

"  Ob,  what  I  am  losing  in  you,  my  mother !" 

"  It  is  God's  will,  my  son  ;  perhaps  by  cutting  you  loose 
from  all  earthly  dependence,  he  designs  to  cast  you  wholly 
upon  himself — this  is  the  way  that  you  are  to  learn  the 
blessedness  of  'looking  aloft.'  Think  what  others  have 
done  who  have  risen  from  the  humblest  walks  of  life,  and 
do  likewise;  only  let  all  be  done  for  the  glory  of  God,  not 
for  your  own  exaltation,  Roland.  If  it  is  ever  in  your 
power,  I  wish  you  to  visit  your  home  in  Scotland;  you 
have  an  aunt  and  cousin  living  there ;  there  is  some  pro 
perty  also,  an4  I  think  that  it  will  be  to  your  advantage  to 


128  WOODCLIFF. 

seek  out  your  relations.  There  is  an  old  friend  of  mine 
whom  I  should  like  you  to  see,  Malcolm  Graham ;  he  would 
be  a  valuable  friend.  Above  all  things,  get  a  good  educa 
tion  ;  stop  at  no  sacrifice  ;  shrink  from  no  labor." 

Roland  listened  to  his  mother's  words  as  though  it  were 
a  voice  from  Heaven,  and  to  him  it  w&s ;  for  the  message 
of  that  hour  guided  all  his  earthly  destiny.  He  rose  with 
reverence  ;  his  feelings  were  too  deep  for  utterance ;  press 
ing  a  kiss  on  either  cheek,  and  on  the  calm  pale  forehead, 
he  left  the  room,  and  bowed  by  his  bed-side,  poured  out  his 
young  soul  in  fervent  prayer. 

"  What  has  been  done,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  shall  be 
done  again,"  said  Roland  to  himself — "  '  looking  aloft,'  trust 
ing  in  God,  I  can  do  all  things." 

The  resolution  of  that  silent  hour  was  sublime ;  it  was 
known  to  none  but  God ;  but  doubtless  a  record  was  en 
tered  in  the  book  of  God's  remembrance  which  was  never 
blotted  out,  never  revoked;  and  the  name  of  Roland  Bruce 
was  seen  by  angels  signed  to  that  recorded  dedication,  and 
sealed  by  the  precious  blood  of  the  Redeemer. 

From  that  day,  the  setting  of  life's  sun  to  Mrs.  Bruce  was 
slow,  sure,  but  glorious. 

"  One  more  charge,  Roland,"  said  the  mother,  after  an 
hour's  converse ;  "  be  faithful  to  Effie ;  I  need  scarcely  tell 
you  that ;  but  she  is  a  delicate  flower,  and  must  be  tenderly 
cherished,  Roland ;  and  after  I  am  gone,  in  my  top  drawer, 
tied  with  a  black  ribbon,  you  will  see  a  package;  it  is  for 
you,  Roland;  I  can  trust  you  with  your  mother's  history." 

Elsie  Gibson  had  been  absent  for  months  from  the  neigh 
borhood,  but  one  evening  suddenly  she  appeared  at  the 
cottage.  She  seemed  much  agitated  on  hearing  how  ill 
Mrs.  Bruce  was,  and  asked  to  see  her. 

Conducted  to  the  dying  chamber,  and  standing  by  the 
bedside,  she  took  the  pale  withered  hand  that  lay  upon  the 
bed-clothes,  and  said  : 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS  129 

"  Mary  Bruce,  this  is  a  solemn  hour ;  I  ti'ust  that  you  are 
at  peace  with  God." 

"  Blessed  be  ray  Saviour's  name  !  I  am  ;  I  have  no  fears 
for  the  future,  no  anxiety  for  the  present ;  death  is  swal 
lowed  up  in  victory.'' 

"  Is  there  any  message  that  you  would  send  to  any  of 
your  Scotch  friends,  Mary  ?  I  may  go  to  Scotland  ere  long. 
Is  there  anything  upon  your  mind,  Mary?" 

"There  is  no  one  near,  Elsie,  is  there?"  anxiously  in 
quired  the  invalid. 

"  There  is  no  one,  Mary;  we  are  all  alone." 

"  If  you  ever  see  my  brother  or  any  of  my  relations,  give 
my  love,  and  tell  them  how  happy  were  my  dying  moments 
— and  now,  Elsie,  you  knew  my  husban^  in  former  days — 
do  you  know  that  sometimes  I  have  felt  that  he  was  not 
dead.  He  was  so  singular,  sometimes  I  thought  he  was 
deranged ;  he  became  so  gloomy  in  latter  years,  that  I  have 
thought  perhaps  he  is  not  dead ;  we  never  heard  of  it  cer 
tainly,  and  then  the  supplies  which  I  received  so  long  must 
have  come  from  him.'' 

"  If  he  were  alive,  would  you  send  him  any  message  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  tell  him  that  I  freely  forgive  any  un- 
kindness  which  he  showed  to  me.  He  had  sore  trials  to 
rend  his  heart,  and  so  had  I,  Elsie.  If  he  is  alive,  and  has 
forsaken  his  family,  I  forgive  him  that  too ;  because,  if  he 
is,  I  believe  that  it  was  done  in  an  hour  of  great  depression, 
perhaps  insanity." 

Elsie  listened  earnestly  to  these  words;  a  faint  smile 
passed  over  her  face,  as  she  replied  : 

"  I  ken  something  o'  your  story,  Mary ;  it  was  a  sad  one ; 
very  much  like  the  song  o'  'Auld  Robin  Gray  ;'  but  your 
sorrows  are  amaist  owre,  Mary ;  and  on  the  ither  side,  a' 
will  be  plain  and  clear." 

A  few  more  days,  and  the  ministering  angel  called  for  the 
faithful  mother,  and  bore  her  peacefully,  happily,  over  the 


130  WOODCLIFF. 

swellings  of  Jordan,  to  the  bosom  of  the  Redeemer  whom 
she  loved. 

Roland  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  dead  with  solemn, 
tender  dignity ;  for  he  felt  that  no  common  loss  was  his  in 
parting  with  such  a  friend  and  counsellor  in  life's  trials  and 
sorrows ;  but  his  hopes  of  reunion  were  so  strong,  so  bright, 
that  time  appeared  but  as  a  little  span,  at  the  end  of  which 
he  should  again  meet  the  spirit  of  that  sainted  parent. 

Effie  was  not  so  strong  —  poor,  timid,  loving  child!  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  life  would  weep  itself  away  in  the  first 
burst  of  anguish  that  filled  the  chamber  of  the  dead. 

Aunt  Matilda  undertook  the  expenses  of  the  widow's 
funeral,  and  the  family  at  the  Hall  joined  the  humble  pro 
cession. 

Elsie  Gibson  was  a  sincere  mourner,  and  made  many 
mysterious  remarks  which  none  could  explain. 

About  a  week  after  the  funeral,  Roland  and  Effie  bent 
their  steps  to  the  village  grave-yard.  When  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  grave,  what  was  their  surprise !  to  see  Elsie 
and  a  man  wrapped  up  in  a  heavy  cloak,  in  earnest  conver 
sation.  He  stood  with  his  handkerchief  to  his  face,  as 
though  deeply  affected ;  but  as  soon  as  Elsie  perceived  the 
approach  of  the  two,  she  hurried  away  with  her  mysterious 
companion. 

They  were  both  surprised,  and  wondered  who  it  could  be 
thus  interested  in  their  mother.  They  were  paying  their 
last  visit  ere  disposing  of  the  furniture  at  the  cottage. 

Aunt  Matilda  had  offered  Effie  a  home,  where  she  was 
to  make  herself  useful  with  her  needle.  Roland  was  pre 
paring  to  obey  his  mother's  request  of  seeking  an  educa 
tion.  All  was  ready  for  his  departure,  and  Madeline  sent 
for  him  to  come  up  to  the  cemetery  in  the  evening.  When 
reaching  his  mother's  grave,  there  sat  Madeline  on  the 
humble  mound,  at  the  head  of  which  was  placed  a  simple 
head-stone  of  white  marble,  with  his  mother's  name  and 
age  inscribed,  with  the  sweet  words,  "Asleep  in  Jesus." 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  .          131 

"  Is  this  yonr  work,  Madeline?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  Roland ;  it  was  the  last  thing  that  I  could  do  for 
you  ;  you  have  been  a  faithful  friend  to  me,  and  it  is  a  small 
return." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Madeline,  how  grateful  I  am  for  tMs 
act  of  kindness ;  it  was  a  trial  to  me  to  think  that  my 
mother  must  lie  in  the  grave  without  any  sign  to  mark  the 
place  of  her  burial." 

"When  do  you  leave  us,  Roland?" 

"  Just  as  soon  as  my  little  stock  at  the  cottage  is  disposed 
of;  it  is  of  very  little  value,  but  after  all  our  debts  are  paid, 
what  is  left  is  for  Effie,  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I  shall 
be  all  alone  in  the  great  world,  Maddy,  but  it  will  be  a 
comfort  to  know  that  you,  my  little  friend,  will  not  forget 
me." 

Madeline's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  That  cannot  be,  Ro 
land  ;  all  that  I  know  of  anything  that  is  good  and  holy 
began  with  you ;  when  1  first  knew  you,  I  scarcely  knew 
the  difference  between  right  and  wrong." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  want  you  to  promise,  Maddy,  and 
that  is  to  read  your  Bible  morning  and  evening,  praying 
for  God  to  help  you  to  understand  what  you  read." 

"  That  is  a  small  request,  Roland,  and  I  promise  that  I 
will  let  nothing  interfere  with  the  duty." 

"  May  our  Father  bless  you,  Maddy,  and  have  you  always 
in  his  holy  keeping.  I  shall  never  cease  to-* pray  for 
you." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Roland  ?" 

"  To  college,  Maddy,  where  I  hope  to  gain  a  classical 
education.  My  mother  charged  me  to  strive  for  that,  and 
with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  heaven,  I  hope  to  succeed." 

"  Have  you  any  money,  Roland  ?" 

The  boy  smiled  as  he  replied,  "In  the  bank  of  Heaven, 
Maddy." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Roland?" 

"  I  mean  that  there  are  promises  made  to  God's  children 


132  WOODCLIFF. 

— dear  mother  has  always  told  me  that  God's  word  can 
never  fail — so  his  bank  can  never  break,  Maddy." 

"I  shall  miss  you,  Roland,  when  my  naughty  fits 
come.  I  shall  want  you  to  show  me  how  to  conquer 
myself." 

"  You  must  not  lean  on  any  human  arm ;  there  is  one 
strong  arm,  Maddy ;  the  one  that  conquered  sin,  Satan  and 
death." 

"That  is  Jesus,  Roland.  I  wish  that  my  faith  in  him 
was  just  like  yours." 

"  Pray,  Maddy,  that  he  would  give  you  faith ;  he  is  the 
author  and  finisher  of  our  faith.  Do  you  remember  any  of 
the  little  songs  that  I  have  taught  you,  Maddy  ?" 

"  Yes,  Roland,  I  remember  them  all ;  I  shall  get  the 
music,  and  learn  them  perfectly  now." 

"  Let  us  sing  together  our  last  song,  Maddy,"  and  Ro 
land's  rich  voice,  with  Madeline's  sweet,,  clear  notes,  joined 
in  the  dear  old  song, 

"Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  mind  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

In  days  o'  lang  syne ! 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  Jo, 

For  auld  lang  syne; 
\VV11  tak  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne." 

Maddy's  voice  trembled,  and  ere  they  reached  the  last 
verse  she  bowed  her  head  and  wept. 

Roland  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  drew  out  the  like 
ness  which  Madeline  had  brought  from  Boston  for  his 
mother. 

"  Here  is  the  face  of  my  kind  little  friend,"  said  the  boy, 
"  I  shall  often  talk  to  it  when  far  away." 

"  I  have  nothing  but  the  sea-weed  and  the  shells  to  look 
at,  Roland ;  but  in  my  heart  the  memory  of  all  the  wise 
and  precious  things  which  you  have  taught  me.'' 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  133 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  go  now,  Maddy.  Good-bye ;  I  am 
sure  that  we  shall  meet  again." 

Madeline  looked  up  with  such  a  bright  smile  through  her 
tears,  and  said. 

"  Remember,  Roland,  what  I  have  always  said,  that  you 
will  come  back  to  Woodcliff  a  great  man ;  and  I  shall  be 
so  glad  to  see  the  upstarts  around  us  bowing  down  to  Ro 
land  Gordon  Bruce,  the  son  of  poor  widow  Bruce.  Good 
bye,  Roland;  I  shall  never  forget  the  lessons  of  Maple 
Lane  School,  or  the  happy  days  that  we  have  spent  to 
gether."  Giving  her  hand  to  Roland,  they  exchanged  a 
parting  clasp,  and  Madeline  turned  to  leave  the  cemetery. 

Roland  sat  down  upon  his  mother's  grave,  and  watched 
the  childish  form  until  she  was  seen  no  more  ;  then,  bowing 
his  head  upon  his  hands,  he  could  no  longer  restrain  the 
silent  tears  that  would  chase  each  other  down  his  cheeks. 

"Thus  fade  my  earthly  friends,"  sighed  the  boy;  "first 
my  mother,  then  Madeline,  this  precious  little  friend,  then 
Erne,  my  darling  sister,  next,  and  I  shall  be  alone — a  waif 
upon  the  wide,  wide  world ;  but  no,  not  a  waif  while  God 
lives  and  my  Saviour  reigns,  for,  blessed  be  his  name  !  I 
can  trust  him  still." 

The  little  stock  at  the  cottage  was  soon  disposed  of,  and 
after  all  their  mother's  debts  were  paid,  nothing  remained 
but  a  few  dollars,  which  Erne  insisted  Roland  should  take 
with  him  in  his  first  encounter  with  the  world.  Efifie  was 
comfortably  settled  at  Woodcliff,  Roland  stayed  at  old 
Peter's  cabin  a  day  or  two,  and  Lucy  and  Lavinia  had  re 
turned  to  Boston. 

"  A  letter  from  papa,  dear  aunt,''  exclaimed  Maddy ;  "  he 
is  in  New  York,  and  will  be  here  to-night,"  and  she  was 
nearly  wild  with  delight.  "  Won't  I  surprise  him  with  a 
morning  serenade  on  my  harp!"  and  she  had  it  brought 
into  the  room  adjoining  her  father's,  that  she  might  awake 
him  in  the  morning  with  her  music. 

There  was  no  more  composure  for  Madeline  during  the 
12 


134  WOODCLIFF. 

whole  of  that  day — busy  in  her  father's  chamber,  and  in 
the  library  to  see  that  all  was  prepared  for  his  comfort, 
adding,  as  the  last  touch,  some  sweet  flowers  for  both 
rooms.  Madeline  tried  to  settle  herself  to  some  employ 
ment,  but  all  in  vain,  until  she  uncovered  her  harp ;  prac 
tising  some  of  her  best  pieces,  she  spent  the  rest  of  the 
morning  in  preparing  for  her  serenade.  Evening  at  length 
arrived,  and  with  it  her  dear  father.  Folded  once  more  in 
his  arms,  Madeline  was  perfectly  happy  for  the  moments 
following  his  arrival. 

The  evening  was  spent  in  showing  the  beautiful  things 
that  Mr.  Hamilton  had  brought  for  Madeline  and  her  aunt; 
nor  was  Effie  forgotten  by  the  kind  man. 

"  Something  will  arrive  to-morrow,  Maddy,  that  I  could 
not  bring  with  me,  on  account  of  its  bulk ;  I  know  that  it 
will  please  you  best  of  all." 

Handsome  dresses,  laces,  gloves,  and  jewelry  were 
lavished  upon  the  idolized  child. 

Mr.  Hamilton  was  a  happy  man,  once  more  seated  in 
the  midst  of  his  family — fatigued,  he  retired  early  to  rest ; 
and,  rising  early  in  the  morning,  stood  at  his  window  to 
enjoy  the  beauty  of  a  magnificent  sunrise.  While  quietly 
looking  upon  the  scene,  he  thought  that  he  heard  the  sound 
of  very  low,  sweet  music ;  for  a  moment,  it  ceased ;  and  he 
thought  that  he  must  have  been  mistaken  ;  but  again  it 
swelled  out  in  deep  rich  chords  of  melody,  accompanied  by 
a  charming  voice  —  it  seemed  very  near,  certainly  in  the 
next  room.  Opening  the  door,  what  was  his  surprise  to 
see  Madeline,  in  her  night-dress,  seated  at  a  harp,  perform 
ing  most  delightfully,  and  singing  a  song  of  welcome  for 
her  father.  He  listened  in  delighted  silence  until  the  close, 
then  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  my  daughter !  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  How 
in  the  world  did  you  accomplish  all  this  without  my  know 
ledge  ?" 

"  It  was  commenced  in  Boston,  papa ;  and  during  your 


SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOWS.  135 

absence,  I  have  applied  myself  diligently,  determined  to 
surprise  you." 

"  Well,  truly !  I  think  that  the  fairies  must  have  been 
very  busy,  Maddy,  both  with  you  and  me." 

"  Why  with  you,  dear  papa  ?  Have  you  been  learning 
too,  without  my  knowledge  ?" 

"You  will  know  to-day  what  I  mean,  dear;  but  really, 
you  could  have  done  nothing  that  could  have  pleased  me 
better,  than  this  pleasant  surprise." 

Mr.  Hamilton  seemed  to  be  very  frequently  at  the  front 
door,  watching  evidently  for  an  arrival ;  at  length,  Made 
line's  curiosity  to  know  what  was  coming,  was  about  to  be 
satisfied,  for  a  wagon  turned  into  the  avenue,  bringing  a 
very  large  and  singularly-shaped  packing-box. 

It  was  brought  into  the  house  and  soon  opened,  when, 
to  Madeline's  surprise,  an  elegant  French  harp  appeared. 

Throwing  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck  she  ex 
claimed, 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  dear,  papa ;  this  is  just  whajb  I  wanted  ! 
How  in  the  world  did  you  know  it  ?" 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  Maddy,  that  the  fairies  must  have 
been  very  busy  ?  But,  candidly,  I  have  always  intended 
that  you  should  study  my  favorite  instrument,  and  have 
brought  you  one  of  the  finest  that  I  could  obtain  in  Paris." 

"Is  it  not  delightful  that  I  have  been  taking  lessons, 
papa  ?  Now  I  can  send  away  the  old  harp,  and  have  my 
own." 

For  some  weeks,  Madeline  was  busily  occupied  with  her 
beautiful  instrument ;  but  Mr.  Hamilton  was  obliged  to 
yield  at  last  to  the  conviction,  that  he  must  part  for  a 
few  years  with  his  darling  child,  if  she  was  ever  to  be 
properly  educated  for  the  sphere  in  which  she  was  des 
tined  to  move,  for,  under  the  weak  guidance  of  Aunt 
Matilda,  that  could  never  be. 

As  soon  as  he  could  obtain  the  co-operation  of  good 
Aunt  Clara,  a  suitable  boarding-school  was  solicited,  and, 


136  WOODCLIPP. 

after  due  preparation,  Madeline  was  sent  from  home,  to 
remain  until  her  education  should  be  completed.  It  was  a 
sore  trial  to  both  parent  and  child,  and  the  parting  nearly 
overcame  the  resolution  of  the  father,  who  could  scarcely 
endure  the  loneliness  of  Woodcliff  without  his  darling. 
Poor  Effie  would  also  be  very  lonely,  but  Aunt  Matilda 
was  really  kind  at  heart,  and  imposed  nothing  upon  the 
young  girl,  but  what  she  was  fully  competent  to  perform. 


CHAPTER    XI. 
A  MOTHER'S  LIFE  SORROW. 

MADELINE  had  been  gone  for  some  days,  and  Roland 
had  nearly  completed  his  arrangements.  He  saw  much  of 
Effie,  for  the  few  remaining  hours  were  precious  to  both. 

"  Effie,  meet  me  this  evening  in  the  cemetery,  I  wish  to 
read  you  our  mother's  manuscripts." 

Effie  promised.  The  last  evening  had  arrived,  and  the 
orphans  met  upon  their  mother's  grave,  for  the  sad  fare 
well.  Roland  untied  the  black  ribbon,  and  commenced 
reading : — 

"  When  you  read  these  lines,  my  dear  children,  my 
mortal  remains  will  be  sleeping  in  the  quiet  grave,  but  I 
myself  shall  be  with  Jesus,  and  that  is  enough  of  bliss  for 
an  immortal  spirit.  T  have  thought  it  wise  to  make  you 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  my  early  life.  You  know 
that  my  father  was  the  minister  of  the  parish  where  1  was 
born.  He  was  a  wise  and  holy  man,  and  gave  me  all  the 
advantages  of  a  good  education.  My  mother  died  when  I 
was  young,  but  my  Aunt  Ellen,  my  father's  sister,  came  to 
take  charge  of  the  manse,  and  to  bring  up  the  motherless 
children.  She  was  an  excellent  woman,  and  faithfully 
performed  the  parfe-of  a  mother. 

"  I  had  a  cousin,  named  Malcolm  Graham,  to  whom  I 
had  been  most  tenderly  attached  from  my  earliest  child 
hood.  We  had  roamed  our  native  mountains,  and  sailed 
upon  our  Scottish  lakes  together;  we  had  walked  from 
earliest  days  to  the  house  of  God  in  company,  had  sang 
from  the  same  hymn-book,  and  had  joined  the  church  on  the 
12*  (137) 


138  WOODCLIFP. 

same  day.  We  sang  the  same  Scottish  songs,  loved  the 
same  wild  stories  of  our  martyred  ancestors.  In  fine,  we 
were  as  one  soul ;  no  love  was  ever  purer,  holier,  deeper 
than  that  which  filled  our  young  hearts  for  each  other. 

"  My  father  and  my  aunt  were  blinded ;  they  had  been  so 
accustomed  to  look  upon  us  as  brother  and  sister,  that 
nothing  could  have  surprised  my  father  more,  than  when 
Malcolm  came  to  ask  that  the  current  of  our  lives  might 
henceforth  flow  in  one  calm,  holy  channel. 

" '  It  canna'  be,  Malcolm ;  you  are  owre  near  akin ;  I 
could  na'  ask  the  Master's  blessing  upon  sic  a  union.' 

" '  Oh,  Uncle  Gordon,  ye  canna'  break  your  Mary's 
heart,  by  sic  an  answer?' 

"  '  Why  did  I  na'  ken  this  before  ?   I  might  ha'  seen  it  a'.' 

"  Malcolm  pleaded  his  cause  earnestly ;  my  father  loved 
us  both  tenderly.  At  the  end  of  a  week,  he  gave  his  un 
willing  consent,  on  the  ground  that,  as  he  had  blindly 
allowed  the  intimacy,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  say  nay,  and 
we  were  betrothed. 

"At  the  same  time,  Stephen  Bruce,  the  son  of  my  father's 
most  4ntimate  friend,  renewed  his  addresses,  for  since  I 
had  grown  to  early  womanhood,  he  had  twice  a-year, 
offered  his  hand,  and  been  refused.  This  was  the  man  that 
my  father  favored.  He  was  a  reserved  and  rather  gloomy 
man,  but  his  love  for  me  was  an  all-absorbing  passion. 
He  had  a  good  moral  character,  was  well  off  in  the  world, 
and  moreover,  was  the  son  of  my  father's  bosom  friend. 
Malcolm  was  poor  in  the  possessions  of  the  world,  but 
rich  in  all  that  could  ennoble  and  dignify  a  man.  There 
was  but  little  prospect  of  his  rising  in  the  world,  in  an 
obscure  part  of  Scotland.  An  opportunity  offered  for  him 
to  enter  upon  a  lucrative  situation  in  China ;  he  accepted ; 
my  heart  sank  within  me,  for  I  felt  that  a  wide  ocean 
would  soon  separate  us,  and  I  feared  that  1  should  never 
see  the  face  of  Malcolm  Graham  again. 

"  My  father  encouraged  the  step.     I  could  see  the  secret 


A  MOTHER'S  LIFE  SORROW.  139 

joy  of  Stephen  Bruce,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  never  con 
sent.  But  Malcolm  was  young  and  hopeful ;  he  saw  at 
the  end  of  his  long  exile,  a  sweet  happy  home  among  our 
native  mountains,  where  we  should  share  life's  joys  and 
sorrows ;  and,  at  last,  I  became  reconciled  to  the  thought. 

"  We  parted  at  the  sweet  trysting  place  where  we  had  so 
often  met  in  the  happy  days  of  our  young  affection.  On 
the  banks  of  the  lake,  near  our  quiet  home,  stood  a  clump 
of  old  trees,  whose  branches  dipped  gracefully  in  the  placid 
water. 

"  Thither  we  walked  slowly  to  spend  our  last  sad  hours. 
I  wore  the  light  blue  snood  of  a  Scottish  maiden,  which 
somewhat  confined  my  curls. 

"  '  Shall  I  hae  one,  Mary  ?'  asked  my  cousin. 

"  I  cut  one  from  my  head,  and  tied  it  with  a  piece  of  the 
blue  ribbon  of  my  snood. 

"  Malcolm  placed  it  in  a  little  pocket-book,  and  laid  it 
away  in  his  bosom, 

"  After  hours  of  silent  weeping,  he  bade  me  farewell,  and 
I  felt  as  if  a  load  of  lead  sank  down  into  my  heart,  as  I 
watched  his  retreating  form  until  he  vanished  from  my 
sight. 

"  For  two  years,  letters  came  regularly ;  all  bright,  encou 
raging,  hopeful ;  he  was  fast  acquiring  a  fortune,  and  would 
return  in  another  year.  In  the  meanwhile,  Stephen  Bruce 
increased  his  assiduities ;  I  could  not  banish  him  from  the 
house,  because  he  was  the  son  of  my  father's  friend.  In 
another  year,  a  letter  announced  that  Malcolm  would  sail 
in  the  ship  Neptune  for  Liverpool,  and  that  I  might  expect 
him  in  October,  when  I  must  be  ready  to  fulfil  my  vow.  I 
was  a  happy  creature  then  ;  all  the  intervening  time  was 
passed  in  making  my  simple  preparations. 

"Aunt  Ellen  was  a  thrifty  housekeeper,  and  took  great 
pride  in  the  quantity  of  bed  and  table-linen  which  her  niece 
must  have.  I  was  occupied  chiefly  with  my  wardrobe.  My 
father  did  not  seem  much  rejoiced,  for  he  had  never  given 


140  WOODCLIFF. 

up  his  Scotch  prejudice  against  the  marriage  of  first  cousins ; 
but  he  was  a  man  of  too  much  integrity  to  break  a  given 
promise.  The  summer  passed,  the  falling  leaves  were  musi 
cal  to  me,  for  they  brought  October;  the  month  passed,  but 
no  news  of  the  Neptune.  November  passed  in  the  same 
manner.  December  began  to  drag  its  cold  and  dreary  day&> 
along,  but  still  no  news.  At  length,  one  morning,  my  father 
entered  the  family  parlor  with  a  grave  countenance,  and  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand.  '  Ellen,  will  you  come  into  my 
study  ?'  said  my  father  to  my  aunt. 

"  My  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound ;  for  I  had  long  been  so 
anxious,  that  even  the  fluttering  of  a  leaf  would  affect  me. 
I  saw  my  father's  face ;  it  was  ominous.  Aunt  Ellen  re 
turned,  and  sitting  down  by  my  side,  she  said,  tenderly, 
'  Mary,  can  ye  bear  bad  news  ?' 

"  '  What  is  it,  Aunt  Ellen  ?'  I  replied,  starting  to  my  feet ; 
'  tell  me,  tell  all ;  anything  is  better  than  suspense.' 

"  She  laid  her  hand  upon  my  young  head,  and  softly 
smoothed  the  rippling  hair  that  lay  upon  my  forehead  and 
down  my  temples. 

"  '  The  Neptune  has  foundered  at  sea,  Mary,  and  Malcolm 
Graham  is  among  the  missing.' 

"  I  heard  no  more ;  for  hours  I  lay  stunned  and  insensi 
ble  ;  for  weeks,  between  life  and  death.  At  length,  a  good 
constitution,  under  the  direction  of  a  wise  but  inscrutable 
Providence,  triumphed,  and  I  awoke  to  take  up  the  duties 
of  my  daily  life  with  a  sad  and  chastened  spirit. 

"  My  father  redoubled  his  kindness ;  but  it  was  evident 
that  Malcolm's  removal  was  a  relief. 

"  The  only  request  I  made  was :  '  Do  not  allow  Stephen 
Bruce  to  visit  the  manse ;  I  could  not  bear  it.' 

"  My  request  was  complied  with.  During  all  this  time,  I 
never  wholly  lost  my  hope ;  I  would  say  to  myself:  'Among 
the  missing,  not  the  lost;  Malcolm  may  yet  be  alive/ 

"  Two  years  of  silent  sorrow  passed — the  light  of  my  life 
had  gone  out.  I  busied  myself  about  my  father's  house, 


A  MOTHER'S  LIFE  SORROW.  141 

my  brother's  clothes,  and  in  the  duties  belonging  to  me,  as 
the  minister's  daughter ;  but  joy  had  passed  away. 

"  I  seldom  saw  Stephen  Bruce,  excepting  at  church  ;  but  I 
knew  that  my  father  visited  him.  Occasionally  I  met  him 
by  the  road-side,  but  he  never  joined  me. 

"  This  delicacy  of  conduct  gained  my  respect ;  and  when 
my  father  at  last  requested,  for  his  own  sake,  that  the  son 
of  his  old  friend  might  visit  him,  I  consented ;  for  my  father 
had  been  very  kind  to  me. 

"  He  came  occasionally,  was  always  polite  and  respectful 
to  me,  nothing  more. 

"At  the  close  of  the  third  year,  after  Malcolm's  loss,  my 
father  called  me  to  him,  and  said :  '  My  daughter,  I  hae 
tried  to  be  considerate  and  kind  to  ye  ;  I  hae  placed  nae  com 
pulsion  upon  your  inclinations ;  now,  I  hae  ane  request  to 
make  ;  will  ye  not  allow  Stephen  to  renew  his  addresses  ? 
He  is  just  as  devoted  to  you  as  ever;  he  has  luved  ye 
faithfully  for  ten  years,  ever  since  yer  childish  days.  If 
his  devotion  and  worth  can  na  overcome  yer  repugnance, 
or  rather  indifference,  I  hae  nae  mair  to  say ;  but  it  would 
please  yer  father  if  ye  would  allow  him  to  renew  his  visits 
to  ye  personally.' 

"  '  Give  me  a  week  to  think  of  it,  father ;  that  is  all  I  ask.' 

"At  the  end  of  that  time,  I  agreed  to  my  father's  proposal. 
I  felt  that  all  my  love  was  in  the  deep  ocean  buried  with 
Malcolm  Graham,  and  that  duty  must  henceforth  rule  my 
life ;  to  please  my  father  only,  I  consented.  Stephen  was 
very  considerate,  but  I  saw-  that  the  same  devotion  filled 
his  heart.  He  was  so  anxious  to  please,  so  humble,  so  un 
demonstrative,  that  I  could  not  but  pity  him.  I  treated 
him  with  kindness,  and  sometimes  even  with  tenderness  ; 
then  he  was  so  grateful  for  the  smallest  act,  that  it  touched 
my  woman's  heart. 

"At  last,  when  in  trembling  tones  he  ventured  once  more 
to  urge  his  suit,  I  did  not  discourage  him ;  I  simply  told 
him  to  wait. 


142  WOODCLIFP.  • 

" '  Bless  ye,  Mary !  e'en  for  that/  was  the  grateful  an 
swer. 

"At  the  close  of  the  fourth  year,  I  consented  to  become 
his  wife.  He  wept  in  the  fulness  of  his  joy,  and  my  father 
was  happy ;  but  the  name  of  Malcolm  Graham  could  never 
be  mentioned  in  his  presence.  If  by  chance  it  was,  dark 
frowns  would  lower  on  his  brow,  and  it  was  at  all  times  a 
forbidden  subject. 

"  He  was  a  kind  husband,  and  I  tried  to  be  a  faithful  wife  ; 
but  in  the  twilight  gloaming  there  were  times  when  the 
memory  of  my  cousin  poured  over  my  heart  like  a  flood. 

"  The  next  year  after  our  marriage,  you  were  sent,  Roland, 
to  form  a  new  tie  between  us.  You  were  a  lovely  babe, 
and  your  mother  was  proud  of  the  sweet  infant  that  smiled 
upon  her  from  his  cradle. 

"  Stephen  Bruce  was  a  handsome  man,  Roland,  and  you 
were  like  him ;  the  same  profusion  of  dark  hair,  the  same 
dark  eyes ;  but  there  was  always  about  you,  Roland,  an 
open  frankness,  that  never  characterized  your  father.  He 
was  constitutionally  reserved  and  taciturn,  often  gloomy. 

"  Our  married  life  flowed  smoothly  along  for  two  years- 
We  lived  at  the  manse ;  for  my  father  could  not  part  from 
his  only  daughter.  He  was  very  fond  of  little  Roland,  and 
the  presence  of  a  baby  in  the  house  was  a  sunbeam  across 
his  path. 

"  One  very  stormy  winter  evening,  I  was  rocking  my  little 
boy  to  sleep,  singing  some  sweet  cradle-song.  The  wind 
howled  fearfully  without,  and  the  snow  came  down  in  heavy 
drifts.  I  heard  a  footstep  on  the  little  porch  in  front  of  the 
manse  ;  it  seemed  to  be  a  man  knocking  off  the  snow  before 
entering. 

"  The  family  dog  gave  a  familiar  bark  of  joy,  and  a  voice 
that  I  thought  drowned  in  the  deep  ocean  said :  '  Down, 
Shep!  down,  sir.'  My  heart  stood  still.  The  next  mo 
ment,  the  door  opened,  and  Malcolm  Graham  stood  before 
me.  He  extended  his  arms. 


A  MOTHER'S  LIFE  SORROW.  143 

"  '  Mary !  Mary  !'  he  cried,  '  hae  ye  na  welcome  ?' 

"  I  started  to  my  feet ;  I  am  sure  that  my  eyes  must  have 
glared  with  terror.  I  sank  upon  the  chair  by  the  side  of 
the  cradle,  and  pressing  my  hand  upon  my  heart,  continued 
gazing.  I  was  speechless  with  terror  and  grief. 

"'What  is  in  that  cradle,  Mary?' 

"'It  is  my  child,  my  babe,  Malcolm.' 

"'Tell  me  its  name,  Mary  Gordon.' 

"  '  Roland  Gordon  Bruce,'  I  answered,  in  trembling  tones. 

"  He  struck  his  head  with  both  his  hands  in  anguish — 
'  Hae  I  come  home  for  this  ?  Oh,  Mary !  how  could  ye 
sae  forget  me  ?' 

"  '  I  thought  you  dead,  Malcolm  ;  and  by  this  marriage,  I 
have  made  my  father  happy.' 

"  '  Look  here,  Mary  !'  said  the  wretched  man.  Opening 
his  vest,  he  took  out  an  old  worn  pocket-book,  from  which 
he  drew  the  lock  of  golden  hair,  tied  with  the  faded  ribbon 
of  the  maiden's  snood,  that  I  gave  him  on  the  night  of  our 
parting. 

"  '  I  hae  never  parted  with  it,  Mary,  and  it  shall  go  wi'  me 
to  my  grave.' 

"  I  was  near  fainting ;  no  words  can  paint  the  anguish  of 
that  hour. 

"  '  Go,  Malcolm,  go ;  you  must  not  be  seen  here.  I  can 
not  even  shelter  you  from  the  storm.  I  can  pray  for  you, 
Malcolm,  but  we  must  meet  no  more.' 

"My  cousin  advanced  —  before  I  could  prevent  it,  he 
clasped  me  to  his  bosom,  pressed  one  last  kiss  upon  my  icy 
forehead,  and  in  another  minute  was  gone. 

"Alas !  alas !  just  as  he  passed  out,  my  husband  entered. 
He  knew  him — it  was  Malcolm  Graham,  the  one  whom  he 
had  always  feared  as  his  rival  in  the  affections  of  the  one 
he  loved. 

"'How  dare  he  enter  this  house?'  was  the  first  salu 
tation. 

"  '  He  thought  that  I  lived  here  yet  as  Mary  Gordon,  hus* 


144  WOODCLIFF. 

band.  You  have  no  reason  to  fear  either  him  or  her  whom 
you  call  by  the  sacred  name  of  wife.' 

"  He  was  pale  with  anger ;  fire  shot  from  his  dark  eyes.  I 
was  terrified.  I  walked  up  to  Stephen  Bruce,  and  laid  my 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  '  Stephen,  am  I  not  your  wed3ed  wife  ?  wedded  in  the 
sight  of  Heaven!  do  you  think  that  I,  Mary  Gordon,  the 
descendant  of  heroic  martyrs,  can  ever  forget  her  plighted 
faith,  plighted  before  God's  holy  altar  ?' 

"  '  No,  Mary,  you  will  not  forget  your  duty  as  a  wife ;  but 
your  heart  is  wi'  Malcolm  Graham,  your  early  luve.' 

"  '  Stephen,  Malcolm  is  dead  to  me — we  shall  never  meet 
again.  I  do  not  wish  him  to  cross  our  path.' 

"  From  that  hour  our  domestic  peace  was  at  an  end.  The 
family  malady  had  certainly  made  its  appearance  in  the  case 
of  my  unhappy  husband.  I  was  kind,  affectionate,  atten 
tive  to  all  his  wants.  I  hushed  the  voice  of  memory,  and 
learned  to  be  even  cheerful  in  the  performance  of  daily  duties. 
I  looked  upward  daily,  hourly,  Roland,  and  I  was  sustained 
in  my  hour  of  trial. 

"  I  begged  my  father  to  see  Malcolm,  and  tell  him  to  keep 
out  of  my  husband's  way.  He  explained  all  to  the  un 
happy  man,  and  related  his  sad  story. 

"  He  had  been  wrecked,  taken  prisoner,  and  landed  in  Al 
giers,  without  the  possibility  of  communicating  one  line  to 
his  friends. 

"  In  company  with  six  others,  after  an  absence  of  seven 
years,  he  had  made  his  escape.  He  promised  my  father  to 
leave  the  country,  for  he  saw  that  with  the  fancy  which 
had  seized  my  husband's  brain,  nothing  else  could  restore 
domestic  harmony.  Accordingly  he  went,  but  the  evening 
before,  I  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  of  the  manse.  It  was 
autumn — the  windows  were  open,  and  I  was  alone.  I  saw 
the  figure  of  a  man  walking  slowly  up  the  path  that  led  to 
the  house.  He  crossed  the  porch,  and  for  one  minute,  stood 


A  MOTHER'S  LIFE  SORROW.  145 

gazing  in  at  the  window.  It  was  Malcolm  Graham.  He 
held  up  once  more  the  golden  lock. 

"  '  Farewell,  Mary  ;  I  cannot  gae  without  your  blessing.' 

"  '  God  bless  you  forever  and  ever,'  was  the  reply  which 
burst  from  my  trembling  lips.  He  walked  hastily  away, 
stood  at  the  gate  for  one  moment,  waved  his  hand,  and  was 
gone. 

"  I  hoped  for  peace  now  that  he  had  left  the  country. 
While  he  was  in  Scotland,  your  father  would  sit  for  hours 
gloomy  and  silent  without  exchanging  a  word;  then  he 
would  suddenly  take  his  hat,  and  set  out  to  search  for  Mal 
colm,  imagining  that  he  was  always  lurking  about  the 
manse.  And  even  after  he  had  gone,  I  could  not  regain 
his  confidence. 

"  The  memory  of  my  poor  cousin  was  the  shadow  in  your 
father's  life,  the  ghost  that  haunted  him  day  and  night. 

"  Malcolm  was  gone  for  several  years,  but  your  father 
never  wholly  recovered  his  spirits. 

"  In  the  meanwhile,  Effie  was  born,  and  the  duties  of 
daughter,  wife  and  mother  fully  engrossed  my  daily  life. 

"  When  you  were  about  nine  years  old,  Malcolm  suddenly 
returned.  He  was  now  a  rich  man ;  he  bought  a  home, 
furnished  it,  and  took  home  a  widowed  sister  and  child  to 
preside  over  his  household. 

"Life  had  disciplined  his  Christian  character;  he  was 
cheerful  and  serene.  It  made  me  happy  to  hear  that  he 
was  foremost  in  all  the  schemes  for  good  around  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  the  name  of  Malcolm  Graham  was  everywhere 
revered. 

"  He  was  often  called  'the  good  old  bachelor,'  for  though 
many  mammas  would  have  liked  to  place  their  daughters 
at  the  head  of  his  establishment,  it  was  evident  that  no 
such  thoughts  ever  disturbed  the  dreams  of  '  good  Uncle 
Malcolm.' 

"  From  the  time  that  he  returned,  your  father's  gloom  and 
restlessness  increased,  The  mania  had  seized  upon  him 
13 


146  WOODCLIFI'. 

again,  and  nothing  would  do,  but  that  the  wide  ocean  must 
separate  his  wife  from  the  country  where  Malcolm  lived, 
although  we  had  no  kind  of  social  intercourse.  We  'met  at 
church,  and  that  was  all.  Much  to  my  aged  father's  grief, 
hasty  preparations  were  made  to  go  to  America. 

"  He  was  devoted  to  me  and  my  dear  children,  and  could 
not  bear  the  thoughts  of  my  leaving  home  and  dear  friends 
to  embark  upon  the  ocean,  and  go  to  seek  a  home  in  a 
strange  country,  with  a  man  so  gloomy  and  suspicious  as 
your  father  had  become. 

"  But  during  all  these  trials,  my  God  sustained  me,  and 
while  conscious  of  being  in  the  path  of  duty,  I  was  even 
cheerful. 

"  We  left  Scotland ;  for  awhile  we  lived  comfortably,  and 
your  father's  malady  seemed  to  diminish.  One  drawback 
there  was  always  to  my  happiness,  and  that  was,  that  your 
father  seemed  so  anxious  to  break  up  all  connection  with 
Scotland,  that  I  was  not  allowed  to  write  home  for  months, 
for  fear  that  I  should  hear  something  about  Malcolm. 

"At  length  he  returned  to  Scotland,  for  the  purpose  of  set 
tling  his  affairs,  and  making  America  his  permanent  home. 
On  the  voyage  back  again,  the  vessel  was  lost,  and  no  word 
was  ever  heard  from  him  again. 

"About  this  time,  poor  Elsie  Gibson  appeared  among  us. 
I  never  could  understand  why  or  how  it  was,  but  she  always 
seemed  acquainted  with  our  affairs,  and  interested  in  all 
that  concerned  us.  There  came  regular  remittances,  they 
seemed  to  come  from  New  York,  and  were  left  at  our  door  in 
the  evening.  At  last  I  observed  that  Elsie  Gibson  appeared 
among  us  in  a  day  or  two  after  these  packages  came,  and 
always  contrived  to  find  out  about  their  safe  arrival.  At 
last  they  ceased  altogether,  and  then  came  the  days  of 
poverty  and  trial,  which  you,  my  darlings,  have  patiently 
shared.  I  wrote  home  frequently,  but  received  no  answers- 

"  Several  times  there  have' been  mysterious  visits  at  night 
around  our  dwelling ;  once  or  twice  have  I  seen  the  figure 


A    MOTHER'S    LIFE    SORROW.  147 

of  a  man  peeping  in  at  our  window,  and  many  other  cir 
cumstances  have  led  me  to  conjecture  that  your  father  may 
yet  be  alive,  and  that  Elsie  Gibson  knows  something  about 
him.  She  told  me  that  your  dear  grandfather  died  soon 
after  your  father  disappeared,  and  although  we  heard  once 
or  twice  from  Aunt  Ellen,  that  ceased  also,  and  I  fear  that 
she  is  no  more. 

"  If  it  is  in  your  power,  Roland,  I  wish  you  to  seek  your 
friends  in  Scotland ;  there  must  be  some  left.  I  have  told 
you  this  sad  story,  my  dear  children,  first  because  I  want 
to  warn  you  both  of  forming  connections  for  life,  with  any 
one,  for  any  other  reason  save  that  of  deliberate  heartfelt 
choice.  I  acted  from  what  I  supposed  to  be  duty;  it  was 
productive  of  happiness  to  none  concerned. 

"And  another  reason  is,  that  by  telling  you  my  supposi 
tion  that  your  father  may  yet  be  alive,  Roland  may  try  all 
that  is  in  his  power  to  find  out  the  truth,  and  to  comfort 
that  afflicted  parent,  for  if  he  is  in  the  land  of  the  living, 
he  is  in  sorrow,  of  that  I  am  sure. 

"Nothing  beside  death  could  separate  him  so  perma 
nently  from  us,  but  the  malady  which  I  have  always 
dreaded.  And  now,  my  dear  children,  let  me  once  more 
bid  you,  in  every  hour  of  sore  affliction  through  which  you 
may  be  called  to  pass,  look  upward;  upward  for  direction, 
upward  for  comfort,  upward  for  hope.  God  is  '  the  Father 
of  the  fatherless ;'  remember  the  sweet  promise,  '  When 
my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  will 
take  me  up.'  I  can  leave  you  in  his  gracious  care.  'May 
he  guide  you  with  his  counsel  here,  and,  after  that,  receive 
you  to  glory.' 

"  I  have  done  with  earthly  care  and  sorrow.  I  wait  for 
you,  my  loved  ones ;  I  know  that  you  will  come  to  me,  and 
that  with  our  precious  Saviour  throughout  eternity  we  shall 
rejoice  as  much  in  the  sorrows  that  we  have  suffered,  as  in 
the  joys  vouchsafed,  if  they  have  helped  to  bring  us  home 
to  glory. 


148  WOODCLIFP. 

"  I  need  not  say,  do  not  forget  your  mother;  I  know  that 
you  will  not.  Keep  close  to  your  Saviour.  Let  your  motto 
always  be,  'Looking  aloft,'  'Looking  aloft;'  through  joy 
and  through  sorrow,  still  '  Looking  aloft.'  " 

After  closing  the;  manuscript,  both  the  orphans  sat  weep 
ing  upon  their  mother's  grave. 

"  How  quietly  she  sleeps !  dear,  tried,  and  patient 
mother !"  said  Roland.  "  How  blessed  is  her  rest  in  that 
world  of  peace  and  love !  Do  not  weep  so,  Effie,  God  is 
in  Heaven ;  do  not  lose  sight  of  his  promises ;  have  they 
ever  failed,  dear  sister?  He  will  take  care  of  us,  he  will 
guide  us,  I  know,  if  we  put  our  trust  in  him." 

"  I  am  so  weak,  Roland ;  since  I  have  lost  our  mother, 
I  feel  as  if  I  was  all  alone  in  the  wide  world ;  and  now  you 
are  going  too." 

"  But  I  shall  come  back,  Effie  ;  I  may  have  a  great  many 
trials  and  disappointments,  but  I  can  trust  the  hand  that 
guided  Noah,  and  Daniel,  and  Elijah,  that  delivered  Peter, 
and  so  many  of  his  dear  servants ;  and  Effie,  don't  let  us 
doubt  his  love,  when,  to  make  the  promises  sure,  he  gave 
up  his  dear  Son,  and  nailed  him  to  the  cross  to  make  his 
word,  '  Yea  and  Amen.'  " 

"  I'll  try,  Roland,  to  be  trustful  as  you ;  but  I  am  a  weak 
and  timid  disciple." 

"  Just  think,  Effie,  that  every  drop  of  precious  blood  was 
just  like  setting  the  seal  to  all  the  blessed  promises ;  and 
do  you  believe  that  the  Saviour  who  could  die  for  us  would 
ever  forget  us  ?" 

"  How  you  comfort  me,  Roland ;  your  words  are  always 
so  kind,  so  strong." 

"  Don't  let  us  forget  our  sainted  mother's  motto,  Effie, 
1  Looking  aloft !'  Oh,  what  blessedness  in  such  a  holy  trust !" 

While  seated  thus,  Roland  perceived  Elsie  Gibson  ad 
vancing  towards  them.  When  any  change  was  about  to 
take  place  in  their  earthly  destiny,  there  was  always  the 
same  old  friend.  They  could  not  fathom  the  mystery ;  but 
so  it  was. 


A  MOTHER'S  LIFE  SORROW.  149 

"And  sae  ye  are  aboot  to  leave  us,  Roland,"  said  the  old 
woman ;  "  ye  are  the  chiel  o'  mony  prayers,  and  belang  to 
the  race  o'  the  righteous.  I  dinna  fear  for  ye,  my  bairn." 

"  I  do  not  fear,  Elsie ;  I  am  almost  penniless,  but  the 
promises  are  all  the  same." 

"I  hae  something  for  ye,  Roland,"  continued  the  old 
woman,  and  taking  a  gold  watch  from  her  pocket,  she  con 
tinued,  "  It  is  your  ain ;  dinna  part  with  it,  my  son." 

Roland  examined  it,  and  found  inside  the  case  the  initials 
of  S.  B.  It  was  a  handsome  article,  and  Roland's  wonder 
was  unbounded.  S.  B.,  what  could  that  mean?  And 
how  was  it  that  Elsie  Gibson,  so  poor  a  woman,  could  afford 
to  give  him  a  watch  ? 

"  Where  did  this  watch  come  from  ?"  asked  Roland,  "  and 
what  right  have  I  to  such  a  gift?" 

"  Dinna  fash  yoursel  aboot  it,  Roland ;  it  is  by  right  your 
ain,  and  some  day  ye'll  ken  bow — • — .  I  shall  like  to  hear 
o'  your  welfare,  my  dear  bairn." 

"  I  thank  you,  Elsie,  for  your  kindness  to  us  all.  God 
will  bless  you,  I  am  sure." 

"  May  the  widow's  God  be  wi'  ye,  Roland,  thro'  a'  your 
wanderings  in  the  wilderness,"  and  shaking  hands  warmly 
with  both  the  orphans,  she  vanished  from  the  cemetery. 
None  had  ever  traced  the  old  woman  to  her  home,  if  home 
she  had. 

"  Farewell  now,  Erne,"  said  her  brother,  as  he  folded  his 
sister  in  a  warm  embrace. 

She  could  not  speak,  but  lay  on  his  bosom  overpowered 
with  the  grief  of  parting. 

"  Take  me  home,  Roland,"  said  the  poor  child,  and  they 
walked  in  silence  to  the  gate  at  Woodcliff.  One  more  em 
brace  in  silence,  one  long,  agonized  kiss,  and  Erne  turned 
up  the  avenue  with  a  heart  too  full  for  utterance. 

Mother,  brother,  Madeline — all  gone.     Nothing  was  left 
to  the  desolate  orphan  but  her  Father  in  Heaven, 
13* 

*•=  •< 


CHAPTER    XII. 

STARS    IN   THE    NIGHT    SEASON. 

OUT  on  the  wide,  wide  world.  Roland  could  not  but 
feel  the  loneliness,  as  at  the  early  dawn,  with  nothing  but  a 
few  clothes  packed  up  in  an  old  carpet  bag,  and  a  few  dol 
lars  in  his  pocket,  he  turned  his  face  away  from  what  had 
once  been  home.  It  had  cost  him,  youth  that  he  was,  many 
an  anxious  thought  and  weary  hour  of  toil,  to  help  to  keep 
it  up ;  but  it  was  the  dear  spot  where  a  mother  smiled  and 
a  sister  cheered  his  return. 

He  had  paid  his  last  visit,  fastened  the  cottage  windows^ 
locked  the  door,  and  turned  to  leave  the  little  home.  But 
what  is  that  lying  on  the  front  porch  ?  it  looks  like  a  familiar 
object.  He  stoops  to  pick  it  up.  It  is  a  little  book  that 
his  mother  daily  used,  "Clark  on  the  Promises."  Many  a 
pencil  mark  is  on  its  pages,  and  many  a  finger  print  pressed 
there  by  a  hand  that  lies  mouldering  in  the  grave.  He  lays 
it  away  among  his  treasures,  and  turns  his  footsteps  towards 
the  sea-shore. 

The  lonely  dashing  of  the  waters  at  that  early  hour 
sounded  so  drearily,  and  recalled  most  forcibly  the  beautiful 
lines  of  Tennyson. 

"Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  oh  sea  I 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

"0,  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play  ! 
0,  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay 

U60) 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  151 

"And  the  stately  ships  go  on, 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill, 
But  oh,  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand! 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still. 

"Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  oh  sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead, 
Will  never  come  back  to  me." 

He  mounted  the  rock  once  more,  leaned  against  the  flag 
staff,  and  looked  out  dreamily  upon  the  wide  expanse  of 
ocean,  emblem  to  him  of  the  untried  world  beyond.  Then 
he  turned  to  look  upon  the  spot  where  he  had  first  seen 
Madeline  in  all  her  childish  grace.  It  had  been  a  sweet 
dream  with  which  to  commence  his  young  life — a  peep  into 
a  home  of  elegance  and  refinement — a  year's  communion 
with  a  fresh  young  spirit,  so  free,  so  wild,  so  guileless. 
Some  pleasant  thoughts  stirred  in  the  soul  of  the  youth, 
and  caused  a  smile  to  flit  across  his  face,  as  he  felt  that 
perhaps  he  might  have  awakened  in  that  bright  child  some 
incipient  longings  after  a  better  life. 

Then  his  thoughts  turned  to  the  reality ;  the  hard,  stern 
reality,  the  battle  of  life,  so  soon  to  commence. 

"  These  bright  things  are  not  for  me,"  sighed  Roland ; 
"  they  might  enervate  my  character.  God  knows  that  it 
will  be  better  schooled  in  the  path  which  strikes  the  steel 
within.  What  a  precious  talisman  my  dear  mother  has 
left  me, '  Looking  aloft !'  upward  where  I  see  the  works  of 
the  Creator,  the  smiles  of  God ;  upward,  where  I  see  the 
path  trodden  by  all  the  good  and  great  of  the  earth ;  you 
shall  never  be  ashamed  of  your  son,  mother.''  The  word 
"mother"  was  spoken  audibly,  the  holy  name  stirred  up 
the  depths  of  Roland's  soul,  and  he  wept  aloud. 

It  was  but  a  moment  of  indulgence ;  for,  taking  up  his 
carpet-bag,  he  commenced  his  journey  on  foot  And 
whither  ?  like  faithful  Abraham,  he  went  out,  not  knowing 
whither  he  went. 


152  WOODCLIFF. 

He  had  heard  of  a  neighboring  college  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  off,  where  the  President,  himself  a  self-made 
man,  had  sympathy  with  struggling  aspirants. 

"  I  can  but  try,"  thought  the  youth  ;  "  I'll  go  trusting, 
and  I  may  succeed." 

All  day  long  he  journeyed  with  a  springing,  elastic  step, 
for  hope  was  strong  within  him.  He  stopped  to  take  his 
meals,  and  to  read  a  verse  or  two  in  his  mother's  precious 
book  of  the  promises.  When  evening  approached,  Roland 
began  to  cast  about  for  a  night's  lodging.  He  did  not 
want  to  spend  his  money,  he  had  so  little ;  that  he  must 
keep  for  his  books.  But  what  to  do  ?  He  could  not  sleep 
out  upon  the  ground,  it  was  too  cold. 

Not  far  off,  he  perceived  a  neat-looking  farm-house. 
Two  or  three  children  were  playing  about  in  the  front 
lawn  ;  the  mother,  a  pleasant  looking  woman,  came  to  the 
door,  and  with  such  a  kind,  cheerful  voice  called  in  her 
little  ones  to  tea,  that  Roland  felt  she  will  not  refuse  me  a 
place  in  her  barn.  I  can  but  ask.  He  walked  directly  up 
to  the  front  door  with  a  firm,  manly  step,  and  knocked. 
The  mistress  of  the  house  appeared. 

"  I  called  to  ask,  ma'am,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  sleep  in 
your  barn  to-night ;  I  have  walked  twenty  miles  to-day, 
and  have  no  place  where  tq  rest." 

Mrs.  Romaine  was  really  a  kind  woman,  but  here  was  a 
stranger,  "  Would  it  be  safe  ?" 

"  Where  is  thee  going,  my  boy  ?" 

"  I  am  on  my  road  to  College,  ma'am,  and  I  have  yet 
one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  to  travel." 

"  Going  to  College,  my  son,  and  no  means  to  pay  for  a 
night's  lodging ;  thee  must  be  a  brave  boy  to  start  on  such 
an  errand." 

"  My  mother  told  me  to  stop  at  nothing  to  get  a  good 
education ;  it  was  on  her  death-bed,  madam,  and  I  will  do 
any  thing  to  obtain  such  a  blessing." 

"  Don't  thee  know  it  takes  money  to  go  through  college  ? 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  153 

But  thee  must  be  tired ;  come,  sit  down,  my  son ;  what  is 
thy  name  ?" 

"  Roland  Bruce." 

"  How  does  thee  expect  to  get  through,  Roland  ?" 

"I  can  work,  madam,"  said  Roland,  with  a  bright  smile. 
"  I  am  very  strong,  and  very  willing ;  and  I  have  my 
mother's  motto  to  work  by." 

"  What  is  that,  Roland?" 

"  '  Looking  aloft/  madam ;  it  is  a  strong  tower." 

He  was  in  New  England,  where  sympathy  with  one 
thus  anxious  was  sure  to  meet  a  response. 

"  Thee  can  stay  with  us,  Roland,  to-night,  but  not  in  a 
barn ;  we  have  a  little  room  where  thee  can  sleep.  But 
come  in,  thee  must  be  hungry." 

And  the  kind  woman  led  her  guest  out  to  the  tea-table, 
where  a  comfortable  repast  was  already  spread. 

"  What  can  thee  do,  Roland,  in  the  way  of  work  ?" 

"  I  can  make  fires,  black  boots,  saw  wood,  etc. ;  and,  I 
suppose  that  there  must  be  plenty  of  such  work  in  a  college." 

"  But  suppose  the  boys  look  down  upon  thee,  Roland  ?" 

"  I  can  afford  to  let  them,  if  I  get  all  the  knowledge  I 
want ;  they  won't  do  it  always  ;  I  am  above  getting  angry 
at  them,  madam." 

"  Thee  is  a  strange  boy,  Roland ;  so  humble,  and  yet  so 
proud,  too." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  there  is  not  so  much  humility  as  there 
seems  to  be  about  me ;  for  all  this  stooping  down  is  but  to 
rise  at  last;  I  shall  be  thinking  of  that  all  the  time." 

"When  thee  is  ready,  I  will  show  thee  thy  room, 
Roland." 

They  sat  and  chatted  pleasantly  for  another  hour,  and, 
when  Roland  saw  the  family  making  preparations  for  re 
tiring,  he  followed  his  kind  hostess  to  a  snug  little  room, 
opening  out  on  a  front  balcony. 

Roland  was  too  full  of  earnest  thought  for  sleep;  so, 
taking  a  chair,  he  seated  himself  alone  on  the  balcony 


154  WOODCLIFF. 

The  family  had  all  retired;  quiet  reigned  around.  It 
was  a  clear,  cold  night,  and  the  bright  stars  shone  out,  and 
spangled  the  heavens  with  their  radiant  constellations 
Roland  looked  upward,  and  listened  to  their  voiceless 
eloquence. 

How  long  had  they  continued  their  silent  march  of 
glory  ? 

Centuries  had  rolled  by,  and  year  after  year  had  they 
travelled  the  same  wondrous  circles,  with  the  same  mar 
vellous  precision.  The  north  star  had  pointed  the  mariner 
on  the  stormy  deep,  to  his  desired  haven.  Orion,  with  his 
glorious  belt  of  stars,  on  the  same  day  of  the  month,  at 
the  same  hour,  might  ever  be  seen  in  the  same  point  of  the 
heavens ;  the  beauteous  Pleiades,  obedient  too,  wheeled  in 
their  wondrous  course.  Ursa  Major,  at  all  times,  might  be 
looked  upon  as  a  familiar  friend ;  and  amid  them  all,  the 
grand  planets  had  joined  the  mysterious  dance  of  the  uni 
verse.  Orbit  within  orbit,  sun  beyond  sun,  each  the  centre 
of  other  solar  systems,  had  wheeled  into  their  wondrous 
revolutions  ;  obedient  to  the  same  laws,  without  confusion, 
without  noise,  (for  great  works  are  ever  noiseless,)  from 
century  to  century;  and  to  night,  guided  by  the  same 
Omnipotent  hand,  amid  the  unceasing  silent  whirl,  Roland 
sits  and  listens  to  their  eloquent  teachings. 

"  These  are  material  things,"  thought  Roland,  "  destined 
at  last  to  be  rolled  up  like  a  scroll  and  pass  away,  but  I  am 
an  immortal.  These  transient  orbs  are  the  objects  of  His 
unceasing  care,  and  shall  I,  an  immortal  being,  fear  to  trust 
my  all  in  His  wise  and  gracious  hands  ?  His  providence,  with 
its  myriad  of  wheels,  is  just  as  surely  guided  as  are  these 
heavenly  orbs.  I  remember  the  night  when  my  mother 
showed  me  these  bright  constellations,  and  the  very  lesson 
that  she  taught  me.  I  can  look  upward  to-night,  and 
recall  it  all.  Stars  in  the  night  season  speak  comforting 
words.  It  seemed  dark  night  when  I  left  Woodcliff ,  but 
the  stars  are  shining  around  my  path,  as  well  as  in  the 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  155 

heavens ;  for  was  it  not  the  good  providence  of  God  that 
led  me  to  this  sweet  chambe.r,  when  all  I  hoped  for  was  a 
barn  ?" 

Thus  communed  Roland  with  the  starry  heavens,  and, 
after  having  committed  himself  in  perfect  trust  to  the  care 
of  his  Heavenly  Father,  he  laid  him  down  and  slept  in 
peace.  "  So  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

By  the  dawn  of  day  he  was  astir,  and  after  an  early 
breakfast,  prepared  once  more  for  his  journey. 

"  Thee  will  have  a  pleasant  day,  Roland ;  it  is  clear  and 
cold,  and  bracing  to  a  young  frame  like  thine." 

Roland  bade  his  kind  hostess  good-bye  with  a  grateful 
heart. 

"  You  have  cheered  me  with  your  kind  words,  Mrs.  Ro- 
maine,  and  the  blessing  of  the  orphan's  God  will  be  upon 
you." 

"  Farewell,  Roland ;  I  hope  thee  will  be  successful ;  many 
of  our  great  men  have  started  just  as  thee  has." 

Roland  did  not  draw  upon  his  provisions  again  until  ,the 
middle  of  the  day,  when  to  his  surprise  he  found  that  a 
large  stock  of  substantials  had  been  added  to  his  store. 

Twice  in  the  course  of  his  journey  he  slept  in  a  barn ; 
he  had  met  with  some  rough  treatment,  but  enough  of 
kindness  to  show  that  a  good  Providence  was  guiding  his 
steps. 

At  the  close  of  the  sixth  day,  Roland  came  in  sight  of 
the  college  walls. 

A  number  of  the  students  were  strolling  on  the  lawn  in 
front  of  the  building.  Several  scrutinized  him  closely,  but 
Roland  walked  steadily  forward, .with  head  erect,  and  firm 
step. 

"  Here,  I  say,  Charley,  what  do  you  think  of  the  new 
arrival  ?''  said  George  Stanley  to  a  companion ;  "  extensive 
trunks,  hey  !'' 

Roland  turned  a  moment ;  there  was  something  in  his 
eye  that  Charley  did  not  relish,  and  he  moved  away. 


156  WOODCLIFF. 

At  length  he  reached  the  President's  room,  and  was 
directed  to  be  seated. 

After  a  short  time,  a  small  man,  with  rather  an  unin 
viting  aspect,  appeared. 

"  What  is  your  business,  my  boy  ?"  asked  the  President. 

"  I  am  seeking  an  education,  sir,"  replied  Roland,  in  a 
direct,  straight-forward  manner. 

"Who  is  your  father,  sir?" 

"I  have  none,  sir." 

"  Your  mother  ?" 

"I  am  an  orphan,  sir.'' 

"Your  friends?  I  mean  responsible  persons,  sir.'' 

"I  have  none,  sir." 

"  Your  means  ?" 

"  None  at  all,  but  these  hands,  feet,  and  head,  sir." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  we  cannot  take  you." 

"  I  will  do  anything,  sir ;  I  will  saw  wood,  make  fires, 
black  shoes,  anything  but  cheat,  sir.  I  won't  say  that  I 
can  pay  you,  as  some  might  promise,  for  I  never  can.'' 

l)r.  Kingsley  was  an  eccentric,  but  a  really  noble-hearted 
man  ;  he  had  taken  one  glance  at  Roland  which  had  inter 
ested  him,  and  his  questions  had  been  put  to  try  him. 

He  had  marked  the  fine  dark  eye,  the  expansive  brow, 
and  the  sweet,  but  firm-set  mouth ;  he  had  listened  to  the 
straight-forward  appeal  of  the  youth ;  it  brought  back  his 
own  early  struggles,  and  he  felt  as  if  such  a  boy  had  a  right 
to  an  education  of  the  highest  order. 

"Are  you  aware,  my  young  friend,  how  trying  is  the  posi 
tion  which  you  propose  ?  If  you  are  mentally  and  morally 
superior,  are  you  willing  to  be  treated  as  an  inferior,  and 
perhaps  sometimes  scorned  ?" 

"  I  can  brush  away  gnats,  sir,''  replied  Roland,  with  an 
expressive  toss  of  his  hand ;  "  for  I  am  a  Scotch  boy,  with 
Scotch  pride  enough  to  sustain  me.  If  they  scorn  me  for 
doing  right,  what  care  I  ?'' 

"  What  is  your  name,  sir  ?" 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  157 

"Roland  Gordon  Bruce,  sir.'' 

"A  fine  name  —  the  Gordons  were  distinguished  among 
Scottish  martyrs,  if  I  mistake  not." 

"  They  were,  sir ;  and  I  trust  that  I  shall  never  dishonor 
the  name  I  bear." 

"  You  can  come,  Roland,"  said  Dr.  Kingsley,  in  a  softer 
tone  of  voice. 

Roland  had  endured  the  hard  tone  of  scrutiny  with  calm 
ness  ;  but  the  free  consent  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 
He  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet,  seized  Dr.  Kingsley's  hand, 
and  with  a  glowing  cheek,  and  eye  suffused  with  feeling, 
exclaimed — 

"Thank  you,  dear  sir;  I  have  no  words  to  express  all 
that  I  feel." 

Dr.  Kingsley  turned  his  head  away,  for  he  did  not  care 
that  Roland  should  see  his  emotion,  but  continued — 

"Where  is  your  baggage,  sir?" 

"  It  is  there,  Dr.  Kingsley,''  said  the  boy,  smiling,  and 
pointing  to  his  carpet-bag ;  "  that  contains  all  my  worldly 
goods." 

"And  where  are  your  books,  Roland  ?  that  is  an  expen 
sive  item,"  continued  the  President. 

"I  have  none,  sir.  I  have  about  five  dollars,  sir;  will 
that  suffice  ?'' 

"We  shall  see,  Roland." 

Dr.  Kingsley  had  a  sudden  call  for  his  handkerchief. 
Blowing  his  nose  violently,  he  recovered  his  equanimity. 

He  sent  for  the  Janitor — "  Show  this  boy  to  the  small 
attic  room,  No.  70,  and  see  that  he  is  well  attended  to,  Mr. 
James.  Remain  here  one  moment,  Roland ;"  and  the  good 
man  hurried  Mr.  James  out  into  the  hall — "  Be  kind  to  this 
boy  ;  he  is  made  of  noble  stuff — don't  let  the  fellows  impose 
upon  him  ;  he  is  poor  as  a  church  mouse  ;  but  he  is  proud, 
and  brave  as  a  lion.'' 

Mr.  James  conducted  Roland  to  his  little  attic,  where  he 
soon  deposited  his  worldly  goods ;  and  at  the  ringing  of  the 
14 


158  WOODCLIFF. 

supper-bell,  made  his  first  appearance  among  the  world  of 
students.  He  took  a  seat  appointed  at  the  foot  of  the  room, 
at  a  side-table,  among  the  younger  boys,  and  glanced  around 
him.  His  clothes  were  mean  and  shabby,  compared  with 
any  by  whom  he  was  surrounded ;  but  there  was  a  quiet 
manly  air  of  independence,  as  he  sat  with  head  thrown 
ho ck,  one  arm  leaning  upon  the  table,  and  a  calm  straight 
forward  look  in  his  eagle  eye,  that  repelled  insolence ;  and 
Roland  was  allowed  to  sit  among  them  in  silence,  but  with 
out  any  welcome  from  the  boys. 

After  supper,  as  it  was  yet  the  time  of  freedom,  many 
of  the  students  strolled  out  upon  the  lawn.  Roland  took 
his  seat  under  a  large  oak  tree,  alone  in  the  great  crowd. 

A  handsome  boy,  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  ad 
vanced  towards  our  novice. 

"  You  look  lonely,  sir ;  may  I  ask  your  name  ?" 

"  Roland  Bruce — and  yours  ?" 

"  Edmund  Norris.   Now  come  and  take  a  stroll  with  me." 

Roland  joined  his  young  companion.  Several  of  the  boys 
tittered  at  the  patronage. 

"  Ned  can  do  as  he  pleases,"  said  George  Stanley  ;  "  but 
I  am  a  little  more  cautious  about  my  acquaintances ;  I  dare 
say  he  is  only  a  charity  boy ;  I  saw  the  poor,  mean  carpet 
bag  that  he  brought." 

Edmund  Norris  was  a  petted  child  of  wealthy  parents, 
but  he  had  a  warm,  noble  heart ;  and  remembered  the  day 
when  he  came  as  a  stranger  among  so  many.  His  great 
fault  of  character  was  want  of  firmness,  easily  led,  and 
generous  to  a  fault ;  consequently,  he  was  a  great  favorite 
— a  dangerous  distinction  for  a  college  boy,  with  plenty  of 
money. 

"  You'll  soon  get  acquainted  with  the  boys  that  are  worth 
knowing,''  said  Edmund. 

"  I  came  only  to  study,"  answered  Roland ;  "  so  that  I 
can  have  my  books  and  a  quiet  corner,  I  care  not  for  the 
roughness  of  outward  circumstances." 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  159 

"  You'll  find  Dr.  Kingsley  a  fine  old  fellow  ;  he's  hard 
upon  us  lazy  ones,  keen-eyed  as  a  fox,  none  need  try  to 
deceive  him." 

"  I  like  his  few  words,  and  kind  deeds,"  answered 
Roland. 

"  Don't  get  home-sick  —  that  is  a  horrid  feeling,  and  all 
have  it  at  first.  I  dare  say  when  you  go  to  your  room, 
you  will  go  to  sleep  with  moistened  cheek,  thinking  of 
mother  and  home." 

"  I  have  neither  home  nor  mother ;  I  am  almost  alone  in 
this  wide,  wide  world — none  but  a  sister  can  I  claim  in 
America — gobd  night,  Mr.  Norris." 

Roland  returned  to  his  room  with  a  grateful  heart. 
Another  star  had  arisen  upon  his  night-season,  and,  as  he 
looked  out  upon  the  spangled  heavens,  they  seemed  to 
smile  upon  the  bright  young  aspirant,  as  he  sank  to  sleep. 

Next  morning,  his  examination  took  place,  his  studies 
were  appointed,  and  his  duties  in  the  house  defined. 

When  he  took  the  boots  the  first  time  from  the  students' 
doors,  many  of  them  were  in  the  passage. 

"  I  told  you  that  he  was  only  a  charity  student,"  said 
George  Stanley ;  "  he's  to  be  our  boot-black,  I  see — it's  a 
capital  joke,  by  jingo!  with  his  princely  airs." 

But  though  performing  these  menial  offices,  his  deport 
ment  in  the  class-rooms,  and  his  superior  recitations,  com 
manded  respect,  in  spite  of  the  slurs  cast  upon  him  by 
mean  spirits. 

He  had  marked  out  his  course,  notwithstanding  all  that 
might  be  done,  steadily  to  perform  his  duties,  to  avoid  the 
students  generally,  and,  above  all  things,  to  employ  all  his 
leisure  time  in  preparing  for  his  recitations. 

It  was  a  hard  lot  that  Roland  Bruce  had  chosen  —  it 
took  him  several  hours  at  night  to  clean  the  boots,  although 
he  was  aided  by  a  little  fellow  in  the  employ  of  the  insti 
tution  ;  before  the  dawn  of  day,  he  was  busy  carrying  up 
wood  and  making  the  fires,  aided  by  the  same  little  fellow. 


160  WOODCLIFP. 

He  allowed  himself  but  six  hours'  sleep,  and  husbanded 
his  time  so  carefully,  that,  with  all  his  hard  labor,  he  really 
accomplished  more  than  half  the  students  in  the  college. 

Added  to  his  industry,  Roland's  talents  were  of  no  com 
mon  order,  and  the  faculty  soon  perceived  that  the  humble 
boot-black  of  the  college,  would  carry  off  most  of  its 
honors. 

"  Holloa,  Boots !"  exclaimed  George  Stanley  one  morning, 
as  Roland  was  passing  through  the  halls  with  wood  for 
the  rooms. 

He  passed  on  without  noticing  the  insolence.  As  he 
returned,  Stanley  was  at  the  door. 

"  Here,  Boots  !  I  want  to  see  you." 

"  When  you  speak  to  me  as  you  ought,  I  am  ready  to 
listen,"  answered  Roland,  with  quiet  dignity. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bruce,  I  want  to  say  to  you,  that  you  don't 
polish  my  boots  well.'' 

"  Complain  to  the  authorities,  Mr.  Stanley,"  and  Roland 
passed  on. 

"  Proud  as  Lucifer !  I  wish  I  could  humble  him,  with 
his  grand  airs  of  superiority,"  said  Stanley,  as  he  banged 
the  door  of  his  room. 

"  You  humble  him!"  answered  Edmund  Norris;  "a 
pigmy  might  as  well  try  to  reach  the  sun." 

"  Why,  what  is  he,  Norris  ?  but  a  mere  boot-black  for 
the  college.  I  won't  stand  his  pride." 

"  Go  to  the  recitation  room,  if  you  want  to  see  what 
Roland  Bruce  is — there  is.  not  a  fellow  in  the  college  that 
can  compete  with  him,  notwithstanding  all  his  hard  labor." 

"  I  suppose  that  he  is  a  prince  in  disguise,  Norris,  from 
the  airs  which  he  puts  on." 

"  He  has  done  nothing  to  offend  you,  Stanley,  and  yet 
you  take  every  opportunity  to  insult  him.  I  tell  you,  sir, 
that  I  know  Roland  Bruce  —  neither  you  nor  I  could  have 
the  independence  which  he  exhibits ;  and,  so  far  from 
humbling  him,  in  my  estimation,  it  exalts  him;  though  J 


STABS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  161 

know  that  I  never  could  reach  it  —  I  could  not  saw  wood 
and  black  shoes  for  my  education." 

When  the  students  met  again  in  the  dining-hall,  Norris 
stepped  up  to  Roland,  and  said, 

"  Your  seat  is  by  me  henceforth  at  the  table." 

"  How  is  this  ?"  inquired  Roland,  surprised. 

"  I  made  the  request,  that's  all ;  you  shall  be  treated 
properly." 

Several  of  the  students  frowned  on  finding  £nemselves  so 
near  to  "  Boots,"  as  they  termed  him;  when  speaking  of, 
not  to  Roland  Bruce. 

"How  long  since  you  were  knighted,  Sir  Edmund?" 
asked  Stanley ;  "  I  find  that  you-  have  taken  your  place 
among  the  sons  of  chivalry." 

"  If  I  am  entitled  to  the  name  for  righting  the  oppressed, 
very  well,  I  am  Sir  Edmund  Norris." 

Roland,  with  his  quiet  dignity  of  demeanor,  really  did 
not  look  very  much  in  need  of  patronage  ;  although  truly 
grateful  to  the  generous  young  soul,  who  was  always  his 
champion. 

Our  young  student  had  secured  the  universal  respect  of 
the  faculty — Dr.  Kingsley  was  his  firm,  tried  friend;  he 
furnished  him  with  all  his  necessary  text-books,  so  that 
the  five  dollars  were  yet  untouched.  Mrs.  Jennings,  the 
matron,  was  extremely  kind,  looking  after  his  little  stock 
of  clothes,  keeping  them  as  neat  as  possible,  and  not  un- 
frequently  adding  a  collar  or  two,  a  handkerchief,  or  a  pair 
of  stockings  to  his  scanty  wardrobe. 

"  Can't  you  stop  in  lay  room  a  minute,  Roland  ?"  said 
the  good  lady. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  dear  madam,  but  I  really  have  no 
time  to  day." 

"Always  busy,  my  son ;  may  you  be  rewarded  for  your 
patient  industry." 

"  Thank  you,  my  good,  kind  friend ;''  and  Roland's  heart 
swelled  with  emotion,  for  he  had  heard  but  one  kind 
14*  - 


1G2  WOODCLIFP. 

womanly  voice  since  he  had  lost  his  dear  mother,  and  that 
was  good  Mrs.  Romaine's. 

"  There  is  a  box  for  you,  Roland,"  said  the  janitor  ;  and, 
much  to  his  surprise,  he  found  quite  a  large  box  in  his 
little  attic,  accompanied  by  a  letter  from  sister  Effie ;  so 
full  of  love  and  tender  recollection,  that,  for  a  moment,  it 
quite  unmanned  him. 

"  You  will  find  many  useful  things,  dear  Roland ;  don't 
ask  how  I  gol  them ;  my  own  hands  made  the  shirts  and 
hemmed  the  handkerchiefs  ;  they  come  to  you  from  a  very 
dear  friend.  The  suit  of  clothes  comes  from  Mr.  Hamilton, 
who  has  heard  of  your  course  at  college,  and  who  was 
quite  chagrined  that  you  should  go  without  seeing  him ; 
but  the  shirts  and  handkerchiefs  are  a  secret." 

Roland  opened  the  box,  and  there  he  found  a  suit  of 
clothes,  half  a  dozen  shirts,  stockings,  and  handkerchiefs, 
with  other  valuable  and  necessary  things. 

He  bowed  his  knee  before  his  Father  in  Heaven,  and 
blessed  him  for  the  gift,  for  really  his  old  clothes  were 
completely  worn  out. 

Stars  in  the  night  season  shining  still  around  him — why 
should  he  ever  doubt  ? 

Edmund  met  him  with  a  beaming  countenance  in  the 
dining  hall,  not  that  he  cared  any  more  for  Roland  in  his 
neat  mourning  suit,  but  it  did  please  him  to  see  his  friend 
taking  his  seat  among  his  fellows,  in  the  garb  of  a  gentle 
man. 

Who  could  have  sent  the  shirts  and  handkerchiefs  ?  but 
one  kind  friend  could  he  think  of,  and  that  was  Madeline 
Hamilton.  He  knew  that  whatever  she  desired,  was 
granted  to  her  by  her  indulgent  father.  It  was  pleasant 
to  be  thus  remembered — but  how  humbling  to  Roland's 
pride,  who  longed  to  work  for  all  his  needs  1 

Roland  really  loved  his  warm-hearted  friend,  Edmund 
Norris,  but  he  saw  that  he  was  wasting  both  time  and 
money.  Night  after  night  would  he  sit  up  until  a  late 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  163 

hour,  indulging  in  card-playing  and  champagne.  He  was 
constantly  resolving  to  change  his  course,  but  he  had  no 
power  to  put  his  resolutions  into  practice.  The  term  was 
rapidly  passing  away,  the  time  for  examination  drawing 
nigh,  and  Roland  feared  that  his  friend  would  utterly  fail. 

Edmund  was  often  late  at  chapel  and  recitation,  and 
yawning  and  listless  all  day, 

Roland's  mind  was  soon  resolved  as  to  duty. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  this  evening,  Edmund,  after  supper,  on 
the  lawn?"  said  the  faithful  friend. 

"  I  will  be  there,"  was  the  reply. 

True  to  his  promise,  Roland  awaited  his  coming. 

"  I  am  aware  what  you  have  to  say,  Roland,"  said  the 
young  man ;  "you  want  to  read  me  a  lecture  upon  my  evil 
ways  ;  is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  lecture  you,  Edmund ;  but  I  cannot 
see  you  ruining  all  your  prospects,  and  throwing  away 
every  advantage,  without  remonstrance." 

"  I  know  it  is  all  true,  Roland ;  but  what  is  a  fellow  to 
do  ?  Just  as  soon  as  I  go  to  my  room  for  study,  three  or 
four  of  my  chums  follow  me,  and  there  is  no  rest  until  I 
open  my  door,  and  then  come  the  champagne  and  the  cards, 
and  night  after  night  is  spent  in  this  way.  I  am  always 
resolving,  but  can  bring  nothing  good  to  pass." 

"Are  you  happy,  Edmund  ?  Does  conscience  acquit  you  ? 
What  would  your  father  say  ?  Can  you  bear  to  be  dis 
graced  at  the  close  of  the  term  ?" 

Edmund  bowed  his  head,  and  replied,  "  I  am  a  miserable 
fellow  !  None  of  these  things  really  satisfy  me  ;  but  what 
can  I  do  ?  I  have  too  much  money,  Roland ;  I  want  to 
turn  over  a  new  leaf.  I  have  a  thought,"  and,  taking  his 
pocket-book  out  of  his  pocket,  he  continued,  "  take  it,  Ro 
land  ;  keep  it  for  me  ;  when  I  really  need  money,  I  will  ask 
for  it,  and  give  a  strict  account." 

"Really,  Edmund!  that  seems  very  much  like  a  child.'' 

"  Well,  Roland,  that  is  just  what  I  am ;  a  weak,  spoiled 


164  WOODCLIFF. 

child,  and  I  must  be  treated  as  one ;  if  I  am  to  study,  I 
must  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  waste  my  time." 

Roland  took  the  trust  smiling,  and  said,  "  You  will  not 
complain,  Edmund,  if  I  sometimes  refuse  your  demands." 

"  That  is  the  bargain,  Roland ;  I  think  that  I  can  keep 
my  promise." 

The  young  man  really  did  close  his  doors  upon  all  his  idle 
friends,  and  commenced  a  new  course. 

"  Shall  I  come  to  your  little  attic,  Roland,  to  study?  No 
one  will  follow  me  there." 

"  Certainly,  my  friend ;"  and  Edmund  found  the  quiet  of 
the  distant  room,  and  the  presence  of  his  studious  friend,  a 
great  help  to  his  new  resolutions. 

"  Boots"  was  making  rapid  progress  in  his  studies.  Many 
were  jealous  of  his  talents,  and  feared  him  as  a  rival ;  but 
with  the  one  great  end  in  view,"  he  was  turned  aside  by 
nothing. 

Roland's  manly  Christianity  was  overcoming  all  enmity 
excepting  with  mean  grovelling  spirits.  Stanley  still  de 
lighted  to  make  thrusts  at  him,  for  he  could  not  but  acknow 
ledge  his  superiority. 

One  morning,  he  stopped  at  Stanley's  door  for  his  boots ; 
they  were  not  outside ;  he  knocked — a  faint  voice  answered, 
"  Come  in." 

Roland  entered,  and  poor  Stanley  lay  on  the  bed,  burning 
with  fever,  and  tossing  from  side  to  side  in  agony. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Stanley  ?"  asked  Roland. 

"  I  have  suffered  agony  all  night ;  my  head  aches  and 
burns,  and.  my  whole  frame  is  shaking  with  chills." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Stanley ;  it  is  bad  to  be  sick  with 
out  a  woman's  care  and  kindness;  shall  I  bathe  your 
head  ?" 

Roland  brought  a  basin  of  cool  water,  washed  the  poor 
fellow's  face,  combed  his  hair,  and  laid  cloths  wet  with  cool 
water  on  his  burning  head. 

"  1  will  send  the  doctor,  Stanley ;  you  need  advice." 


STARS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  165 

Going  immediately  to  the  matron,  he  informed  her  of  the 
case,  sent  for  the  physician,  and  returned  to  Stanley's  room, 
where  he  stayed  cooling  his  head  until  the  doctor  arrived. 
It  was  a  serious  case,  and  needed  great  care,  the  physician 
said. 

All  others  avoided  the  sick  room  for  fear  of  a  contagious 
disease,  and  poor  Stanley  would  have  suffered  greatly,  per 
haps  have  lost  his  life,  had  it  not  been  for  Roland's  care. 

He  received  the  doctor's  orders,  saw  that  his  medi 
cines  were  given  at  the  proper  time,  and  spent  as  much  of 
his  time  as  .possible  by  Stanley's  bed-side;  that,  however, 
could  not  be  long  with  all  his  other  duties ;  but  Stanley 
was  never  left  alone,  for  the  Janitor's  boy  stayed  with  him  ; 
and  by  Roland's  minute  directions,  he  was  properly  at 
tended  to. 

Stanley  was  very  ill  for  three  weeks  ;  when  convalescent, 
he  called  Roland  to  his  bed-side,  and  said, 

"  How  could  you  do  so  much  for  me  ?  I  have  never  said 
a  kind  word  to  you  since  you  came  here." 

"  '  When  thine  enemy  hunger,  feed  him  ;  when  he  thirsts, 
give  him  drink ;  for  in  so  doing,  thou  shalt  heap  coals  of 
fire  on  his  head.'" 

"Whose  words  are  these,  Roland?'' 

"  The  words  of  Jesus,  Stanley." 

"Are  you  one  of  his  disciples  ?  I  thought  you  were  too 
manly  for  that,  Roland.  I  have  always  thought  that  that 
will  do  for  old  women  and  children ;  not  for  men." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Stanley ;  a  Christian  is  the  highest 
order  of  a  man." 

"  Will  you  forgive  me,  Roland  ?  I  have  been  a  mean 
puppy  to  you." 

"  Forgive,  Stanley !  Certainly.  You  have  been  thought 
less,  but  I  hope  not  unfeeling.'' 

"  You  have  conquered  George  Stanley,  Roland,  and  woe 
to  the  fellow  that  dares  speak  against  you." 

"  I  am  so  happy,  Stanley,  to  see  you  getting  better ;  but 


106  WOODCLIFF. 

do  not  thank  me ;  thank  your  Father  in  Heaven  ;  he  is  the 
giver  of  life  and  health.'' 

"Another  star  in  the  night  season,"  thought  Roland.  "  If 
I  can  only  do  some  good  to  poor  Stanley,  I  shall  be  satisfied.'' 

Edmund  kept  his  resolution — to  be  sure  one  evening  he 
stayed  rather  longer  than  usual  in  Roland's  room,  as  though 
having  something  to  say. 

"  Roland,  I  want  some  money,"  said  the  youth. 

Roland  smiled.     "  For  what,  may  I  ask?" 

"  Oh,  never  mind  this  time,  Roland ;  I  want  it ;  it's  mine, 
and  that  is  enough." 

"  But  where  is  your  promise,  Edmund  ?  You  remember 
that  you  agreed  to  tell  me  what  you  meant  to  do  with  it." 

"  There's  a  new  arrival,  Roland,  an  old  friend  of  ours, 
and  I  want  to  give  a  treat." 

Roland  smiled  again.  "  I  cannot  consent,  Edmund ;  it 
breaks  the  contract." 

"Well,  I've  made  myself  a  little  boy,  indeed;  can't 
have  my  own — I  must  have  five  dollars.'' 

"  You  can't  to-night,  Edmund ;  come  to  me  to-morrow 
morning,  and  we  will  talk  about  it  then  ;  it  was  your  own 
proposition,  and  you  must  abide  by  it ;  it  has  been  a  great 
benefit  thus  far ;  you  have  not  missed  a  recitation  for  three 
weeks ;  I  am  not  going  to  see  all  your  good  resolutions 
thrown  to  the  winds." 

Edmund  retired  not  very  well  pleased,  but  could  not 
gainsay  one  word  that  Roland  had  uttered. 

Next  morning,  he  came  with  a  bright  face. 

"  You  were  right,  Roland,  and  I  wrong ;  you  know  how 
to  manage  me,  I  see  that." 

The  close  of  the  year  arrived  —  Roland  occupied  the 
highest  place  in  the  college,  and  Edmund  passed  a  respect 
able  examination,  thanks  to  his  faithful  friend. 

"  There  has  been  partiality  shown  to  '  Boots,'  said  Ro 
bert  Thornton ;  "  I  don't  believe  that  he  deserves  all  the 
honors." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DRIFT-WOOD. 

FAREWELLS  are  spoken — trunks  are  strapped — Roland's 
carpet-bag  is  well  packed,  filled  by  good  Mrs.  Jennings,  for 
she  has  discovered  that  he  returns  on  foot. 

Sleeping  in  barns,  occasionally  at  farm-houses,  at  last  he 
finds  himself  in  sight  of  Woodcliff;  he  passes  Maple  Lane 
school  on  his  way,  and  remembers  the  bright  young  face 
that  used  to  smile  upon  him  so  kindly,  and  the  reverent 
folding  of  her  little  hands,  as  Maddy  listened  to  the  teach 
ing  of  her  young  mentor,  so  meek  under  his  reproofs,  so 
fiery  and  impetuous  with  all  others.  He  wondered  how  it 
was  now.  On,  on,  past  the  cottage  home,  past  the  ceme 
tery,  he  finds  himself  at  the  gate  of  Woodcliff. 

Walking  up  the  familiar  avenue,  old  Hector"  bounds  to 
meet  him,  for  he  was  a  staunch  friend  of  Roland  Bruce. 
Effie  hears  the  noise,  and  runs  out  to  see  what  is  the  matter. 

A  glance  at  the  tall  young  man  is  sufficient.  It  is  her 
own  dear,  dear  brother!  and  in  another  minute,  Effie  is 
pressed  to  the  warm  heart  of  her  only  relative.  Roland 
holds  her  off,  and  looks  anxiously  at  his  dear  sister.  Is  she 
really  paler,  thinner ;  or  is  it  the  mourning-dress  that  makes 
her  look  so  pallid  ? 

"Are  you  well,  Effie  ?"  asks  the  anxious  brother. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Roland,  and  so  happy ;  they  are  all  so  good  to 
me  here.  Miss  Matilda  will  not  let  me  overwork  myself, 
and  Mr.  Hamilton  is  so  kind." 

"  Do  you  ever  hear  of  Madeline,  Effie  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  frequently  ;  and  she  always  asks  about  you,  Ro- 

(167) 


168  WOODCLIFP. 

land ;  she  is  just  as  glad  as  I  am  when  you  are  successful 
at  college." 

"  Has  she  been  at  home  lately  ?" 

"  She  was  here  at  vacation ;  but  it  does  not  take  place  at 
the  same  time  with  yours." 

"  Has  she  grown  much,  Effie  ?" 

"  Very  much ;  she  is  growing  tall,  and  so  beautiful.  You 
know,  brother,  that  I  always  thought  that  there  was  nobody 
so  pretty  as  Madeline." 

"  Is  she  like  she  used  to  be,  Effie  ?" 

"  Not  so  wild,  brother ;  but  just  as  sweet  and  affection 
ate.  She  used  to  go  every  day  to  see  the  rose-bush  that 
you  planted  together,  and  she  was  always  singing  the 
Scotch  songs  that  you  taught  her.  Where  will  you  stay, 
brother?" 

"At  old  Peter's ;  that  will  do  very  well  for  me,  Effie.  Be 
fore  I  return  to  college,  I  am  going  to  the  White  Moun 
tains  ;  I  want  to  see  them  so  much,  and  the  journey  on  foot 
will  do  me  good." 

"  How  about  your  clothes,  brother?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  little  rogue,  you  thought  that  I  could  not 
guess  your  secret.  Why,  who  else  would  send  me  the  new 
shirts  and  handkerchiefs  but  Madeline  ?  You  had  no  money, 
Effie,  and  she  is  the  only  one  that  cares  for  me." 

Effie  smiled.  "  You've  guessed  right,  brother.  When 
she  was  at  home  she  gave  me  the  money,  and  I  made  them 
all.  What  a  happy  little  thing  she  was  when  they  were 
done !  She  skipped  about,  and  danced  like  a  merry  little 
kitten.  '  Roland  shall  look  like  a  gentleman  at  college,' 
she  said  ;  '  and  I  know  there's  not  one  ahead  of  him  there.' " 

"  Effie,  do  you  remember  our  dear  mother's  last  message  ? 
Oh,  what  a  comfort  it  has  been  to  me !  '  Looking  aloft ! ' 
whenever  I  have  felt  as  if  my  heart  would  sink,  I  have 
remembered  those  sweet  words,  Effie,  and  they  have  made 
me  so  strong." 

"  So  have  I,  Roland.     I  am  often  very  lonely,  brother, 


DRIFT-WOOD.  169 

and  sometimes  very  weak.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  my  life 
will  be  a  short  time ;  then  the  dear  words  come,  '  Looking 
aloft ! '  and  I  think  of  all  that  they  mean,  and  they  make 
me  happy." 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  conservatory,  Effie ?"  asked  her 
brother. 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  have  taken  good  care  of  her  flowers,  Ro 
land  ;  and  that  Scotch  heather  is  always  so  pretty  1 " 

Effie  led  her  brother  to  the  old  spot.  The  flowers  were  in 
full  bloom.  Roland  plucked  a  branch  from  Madeline's  own 
rose-bush,  and  another  from  the  heather,  and  turned  away. 
Next,  he  entered  the  library,  and  on  opening  one  of  the 
book-cases,  there  lay  a  glove  of  his  little  friend ;  and  in 
one  of  the  books,  a  pressed  branch  of  sea-weed. 

"  I  may  have  these,  Effie  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  they  are  of  no  use  to  Madeline." 

Roland  laid  them  carefully  away,  and  then  turned  to  seek 
old  Peter. 

"  I  shall  see  you  soon  again,  Effie.     Good-bye,  now." 

"  Good-bye,  dear  brother.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have 
come." 

"  Is  that  you,  my  lad  ?"  said  old  Peter.  "  I'm  right  glad 
to  see  your  young  face  once  more." 

"Can  you  let  me  stay  a  few  days  with  you,  uncle  Peter  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  boy ;  but  ours  is  a  poor  place ;  we  can't  do 
much  for  you." 

"  It  will  be  well  enough.  I  shall  only  be  here  for  a  few 
days." 

Roland  rambled  around  among  the  old  familiar  scenes, 
and  towards  evening,  returned  to  the  sea-shore.  Seating 
himself  upon  the  rock  where  he  had  passed  so  many  happy 
days,  he  gazed  out  upon  the  wide  ocean.  The  music  of  its 
waves  was  sad,  depressing.  It  spoke  of  the  past ;  for  the 
future  it  had  no  voice.  As  he  mused,  a  log  of  drift-wood 
floated  by.  How  solitary  it  seemed !  All  alone !  floating 
15 


170  WOODCLIPP. 

on  the  wide  ocean,  drifting  whither  the  tide  would  wash  it 
up  at  last. 

"  Is  that  like  me  ?"  thought  Roland.  "Am  I  so  lonely 
in  this  wide  world  ?  Am  I  such  a  creature  of  chance  ?" 
No  human  voice  was  near  to  answer  the  question  of  his 
soul.  The  night  birds  sang  their  melancholy  song  around 
him,  and  it  was  an  hour  of  deep  sadness. 

"  Why  should  I  indulge  in  such  a  train  of  thought  ?"  in 
quired  Roland  of  his  heart.  '"  This  is  the  language  of  des 
pondency,  almost  of  despair.  Am  I  indeed  nothing  but  drift 
wood  ? — so  useless,  so  solitary !"  Looking  upward,  the  bright 
fair  moon  was  sailing  overhead  so  serene !  so  pure !  so  silent  1 
With  her  voiceless  majesty  she  answered,  and  the  mother's 
dying  whispers  came  like  sweet  music  to  banish  the  lan 
guage  of  despair: 

'"Looking  aloft,  Roland!'  'Looking  aloft!'  I  will 
not  be  the  drift-wood  of  human  life.  I  will  seek  to.  fit  my 
self  for  my  place  on  this  great  globe,  and,  obedient  to  my 
Maker's  laws  as  is  that  placid  moon,  I  shall  with  his  bless 
ing  move  on  as  surely  to  my  destiny ;  happy  to  serve  my 
God  here,  and  enjoy  the  fulness  of  His  presence  hereafter. 
Float  on,  thou  worthless  log!  thou  shalt  not  symbolize  my 
fate !  Sail  on,  thou  placid  moon  !  Let  my  course  in  life 
be  steady,  calm,  obedient,  as  thine." 

The  voice  within  quickened  his  pace  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  beach,  repeating  the  Psalm  of  Life : 

"Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers, 

Life  is  but  an  empty  dream ! 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 

And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 
Life  is  real!  Life  is  earnest! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
'  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest,' 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul,"  &c.  &c. 

Turning  his  steps  towards  Uncle  Peter's  cabin,  he  slept 
the  quiet  sleep  of  recovered  trust  and  confidence  in  God. 


DRIFT-WOOD.  171 

Next  evening  he  sought  his  mother's  grave.  How 
soothing  were  the  words  upon  that  marble  head-stone ! 
"  She  sleeps  in  Jesus."  And  how  sweetly  did  they  speak 
of  the  dear  little  friend  that  placed  them  there !  He  had 
not  been  seated  long  before  Elsie  Gibson  made  her  appear 
ance.  She  seemed  delighted  to  meet  Roland  again. 

"Weel,  Roland,  the  days  o'  youth  are  passing  away; 
a'maist  a  mon.  Ye're  the  vera  image  o'  ane  I  luve  weel ; 
may  ye  be  a  happier  mon  than  he." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean,  Elsie  ?" 

"  It  matters  na,  my  bairn  ;  I'm  glad  to  hear  sic  a  good 
account  o'  ye,  Roland,  at  the  college ;  there's  a  great  wark 
before  ye,  my  son,  may  ye  live  to  do  it  weel." 

"  Elsie,"  said  Roland,  "  do  you  know  anything  about  my 
father  ?" 

"  I  used  to  ken  a'  aboot  him,  Roland,  in  days  lang  syne, 
when  we  were  baith  young." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  now,  Elsie  ?" 

"  Why  should  ye  ask  sic  a  question,  Roland  ?  do  ye  na 
ken  that  the  vessel  in  which  he  sailed  was  lost?" 

"  I  have  heard  so,  Elsie ;  but  strange  thoughts  have 
crossed  my  mind  lately." 

"  They  are  silly  thoughts,  Roland ;  ye  maun  think  o' 
yer  father  as  dead.  Good-bye,  Roland,  I  maun  be  awa'." 

Roland  turned  his  steps  again  towards  Woodcliff.  This 
time  he  asked  Effie  to  let  him  sit  alone  in  the  library  for  a 
few  minutes.  He  turned  over  many  volumes,  which  he 
knew  Madeline  was  in  the  habit  of  reading,  and  in  many  a 
page  he  found  her  mark.  Taking  up  a  small  portfolio 
which  contained  many  scraps  of  paper,  listlessly  he  sketched 
the  sweet  face  as  he  first  saw  Madeline  on  the  sea-shore 
with  Harry,  Charles,  and  the  other  children.  Roland  had 
cultivated  his  taste  for  drawing,  and  had  made  a  striking 
pencil-sketch  of  the  scene.  Placing  it  almost  unconsciously 
back  in  the  portfolio,  he  left  the  room,  and,  crossing  the 
hall,  met  Mr.  Hamilton. 


172  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Why,  Roland,  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you.  How  greatly 
you  have  grown, — almost  a  man !" 

"Yes,  sir;  time  makes  changes." 

"  How  are  you  progressing  at  college,  Roland  ?" 

"Very  well,  sir;  there  is  one  of  our  catalogues,"  handing 
one  to  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"  This  is  good  news,  Roland.  I  hope,  my  boy,  that  you 
will  continue  to  reap  such  high  honors.  Stay,  and  dine 
with  us,  Roland." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  been  invited  to 
Woodcliff  as  a  table-guest,  and  with  a  modest  blush,  he 
accepted  the  courtesy.  It  pleased  him  to  find  that  Effie's 
place  was  also  at  the  family  table,  and  with  the  well-bred 
ease  of  a  native  gentleman,  he  took  Mr.  Hamilton  quite  by 
surprise. 

"  Madeline  would  like  to  see  you,  Roland ;  she  was  at 
home  last  vacation,  and  has  greatly  improved ;  you  would 
scarcely  recognize  little  Mad-cap;  she  is  so  much  more 
sober." 

"  Does  she  sing  as  much  as  ever  ?"  asked  Roland. 

"  Yes,  her  voice  is  splendid ;  she  shall  have  the  best 
masters  that  I  can  find,  Roland.  But  do  you  know,  boy, 
that  I  like  the  old  ballads  she  used  to  sing,  more  than  the 
opera-style,  which  is  now  so  fashionable  ?" 

Before  Roland  took  his  leave,  Mr.  Hamilton  sought  a 
private  opportunity  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you,  Roland  ?" 

He  grasped  Mr.  Hamilton's  hand  warmly,  as  he  an 
swered,  "I  am  already  your  debtor,  sir;  and  found  your 
gift  of  inestimable  value." 

"  You  were  kind  to  my  little  daughter,  Roland ;  and  I  am 
always  at  your  service." 

Roland  bowed,  and  took  his  departure. 

"  That  is  a  remarkable  youth,  Matilda,"  said  Mr.  Hamil 
ton,  as  he  closed  the  door.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  make 
of  him ;  brought  up  wholly  in  a  cottage,  without  the  ad- 


DRIFT-WOOD.  173 

vantages  of  refined  society,  he  has  more  of  the  manners  of 
a  gentleman  than  either  Harry  Castleton  or  Charles  Da 
venport.  He  must  have  had  a  remarkable  mother,  and  the 
soul  within  must  be  of  the  noblest  mould." 

"  But  really,  brother,  I  don't  think  it  well  to  encourage 
the  intimacy  between  this  youth  and  our  Madeline.  He  is 
growing  to  be  a  man,  and  an  attractive  one  to  such  a  roman 
tic  child  as  yours.  You  really  talked  of  her  to-day  to  Ro 
land  as  if  he  were  her  equal." 

"  Really,  Matilda,  you  are  simply  ridiculous ;  he  is  actually 
a  plebeian,  and  Madeline  patronizes  him ;  it  has  rather 
amused  me  to  see  her  independence." 

"  I  don't  approve  of  the  levelling  system,  Lewis  Hamil 
ton.  Let  each  one  keep  his  place  in  society ;  no  good  comes 
of  these  intimacies." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  Matilda.  I  think  our  Maddy  has  a 
good  share  of  pride — enough  to  keep  her  from  low  associ 
ates.'' 

"  I  tell  you,  Lewis,  that  Roland  Bruce  has  more  influence 
over  that  proud  and  wayward  child  than  any  other  living 
person, — a  word  from  him,  a  look  of  reproof,  I  am  told,  had 
more  power  to  check  her  impetuous  nature,  than  all  the 
teachers  of  Maple  Lane  school." 

"  Well,  Matilda,  he  has  never  taught  her  anything  wrong; 
she  is  greatly  improved  since  she  knew  the  Bruce  family." 

"  You  are  certainly  possessed,  brother,  with  a  spirit  of 
contradiction ;  but  I  have  borne  my  testimony, — you  must 
have  your  own  way.  I  have  said  all  that  I  mean  to." 

Roland's  was  rather  a  sad  walk  back  to  old  Peter's  cabin. 
He  felt  that  he  was  rapidly  approaching  the  years  of  man 
hood,  and  that  Madeline  would  soon  step  over  the  sweet 
days  of  childhood,  and  enter  the  enchanted  ground  of  young 
maidenhood.  Then,  the  difference  in  their  social  position 
would  raise  the  barrier  over  which  he  dare  not  step ;  and 
Madeline  Hamilton  and  Roland  Bruce  would  henceforth 

belong  to  different  worlds. 
15* 


174  WOODCLIFP. 

It  was  a  hard  thought ;  but  Roland  had  seen  enough,  and 
known  enough  of  worldly  pride,  to  feel  that  this  was  so. 
Not  with  Madeline  herself,  for  she  was  too  much  a  child  of 
nature  for  that ;  but  he  must  not  allow  her  to  incur  the  dis 
pleasure  of  her  father,  but  especially  her  aunt,  by  forgetting 
the  broad  gulf  between  them. 

On  his  next  visit  to  Woodcliff,  he  was  struck  with  some 
thing  peculiar  in  the  look  of  Effie's  eyes. 

"  Your  eyes  look  weak,  Effie.  I  fear  that  you  sew  too 
closely ;  is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  They  do  annoy  me  sometimes,  Roland  ;  they  get  so 
dim  that  I  can  hardly  use  them." 

"  Do  take  care  of  them,  sister ;  any  disease  of  the  eye  is 
such  a  great  calamity." 

"It  would  be  a  sore  affliction  to  lose  my  sight,  Roland; 
then  indeed  I  should  find  it  difficult  to  look  upward." 

"  Don't  let  us  forget,  Effie,  that  whatever  befalls  us,  comes 
from  our  Father's  hand,  and  must  be  a  part  of  the  training 
by  which  He  means  to  fit  us  for  the  better  world." 

"It  is  a  comfort,  dear  Roland,  to  feel  that  God  cannot  do 
wrong — if  we  could  only  trust  him  always." 

At  that  moment,  Nanny  called  Effie. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  Miss  Madeline." 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  it  came  while  you  were  with  us,  Ro 
land,"  said  Effie,  as  she  broke  the  seal. 

She  read  it  hurriedly,  and  said — 

"  Here  is  something  about  you,  Roland ;"  and  she  read 
the  quotation. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  hear  often  from  Roland ;  I  should 
like  to  know  what  he  is  doing — tell  him  that  little  Maddy 
is  growing  to  be  quite  a  studious,  serious  girl.  My  chief 
companion  here  is  Lucy  Edmonds;  she  is  a  dear,  sweet 
friend ;  I  wish  that  I  were  like  her.  I  am  learning  a  great 
deal  of  new  music,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  any  of  my  old 
Scotch  songs.  Take  care  of  my  rose-bush,  Effie :  I  mean 


STABS    IN    THE    NIGHT    SEASON.  175 

the  one  that  Roland  planted ;  I  hope  that  it  will  not  die. 
Be  kind  to  old  Hector  for  my  sake,  dear  old  fellow !  Now 
that  I  am  away,  I  think  more  of  Roland's  good  lessons 
than  I  did  when  at  home  ;  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  never  forget 

them." 

Effie  handed  the  letter  to  Roland,  which  he  read  quite 
through. 

"  She  will  be  surrounded  by  snares,  Effie,  when  her  edu 
cation  is  finished ;  with  all  her  wealth  and  beauty,  I  tremble 
for  Madeline  ;  but  still  I  do  not  believe  that  the  world  will 
wholly  spoil  our  little  friend." 

"  When  will  you  leave  us,  Roland  ?"  asked  his  sister. 

"  In  two  days,  I  think ;  I  have  brought  up  my  clothes 
for  you  to  look  over,  Effie ;  so  soon  as  that  is  done,  I  shall 
take  up  my  line  of  march." 

"  Will  you  walk  all  the  way,  Roland  ?  it  is  so  far." 

"  I  am  used  to  that,  Effie ;  indeed  I  prefer  it ;  for  I  can 
stop  where  I  please,  enjoy  all  that  is  beautiful,  and  rest 
when  I  am  tired.  Don't  be  afraid  of  me,  little  sister ;  I  am 
very  brave  and  strong." 

His  preparations  were  soon  made. 

"  Effie,  you  don't  know  what  a  comfort  you  are  to  me — 
while  I  have  you,  I  cannot  feel  alone.  Some  of  these  days 
we  shall  have  a  dear  little  home,  where  you  shall  be  the 
household  fairy,  and  your  brother  the  guide  and  strong  arm 
of  his  precious  sister." 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  dear  Roland ;  don't  be  so  daring ; 
I  don't  believe  that  you  ever  think  of  danger." 

"  I  shall  climb  the  highest  mountain,  Effie,  it  is  such  a 
pleasure  to  conquer  difficulties ;  and  I  will  bring  back  to 
you  the  beautiful  ferns  and  mosses  of  the  mountains — 
then  you  can  make  one  of  your  pretty  baskets  for  Made 
line." 

Folding  her  once  more  to  his  heart,  Roland  took  his  final 
leave. 


176  WOODCLIFF. 

"  I  shall  be  back  in  a  few  weeks,  Effie ;  good-bye  for  a 
little  while ;"  and  looking  back,  he  kissed  his  hand,  and 
smiled  upon  his  dear  sister. 

Effie  looked  after  her  brother  with  an  admiring  gaze,  and 
thought  "  How  handsome  he  is  !  What  a  noble  walk !  God 
bless  my  dear,  dear  brother." 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

"EXCELSIOR." 

HAPPY  season  of  bright  joyous  youth  1  It  nerved  Ro 
land's  springing  step,  flushed  the  glowing  cheek,  brightened 
the  dark  eye,  and  gushed  forth  in  cheering  song  upon  the 
early  morning  air. 

The  past  for  awhile  faded,  the  future  was  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  kind  Father,  and  the  youth  revelled  in  the 
freedom  of  the  present  moment. 

On  through  the  charming  scenes  which  led  him  to  the 
place  of  his  destination  ;  sometimes,  by  the  roadside  where 
bloomed  the  neat  little  homes  of  New  England,  all  with 
their  pretty  porches  entwined  with  flowers  of  every  hue ; 
then,  through  the  thick  woods  where  happy  birds  carolled 
around  his  path ;  again  by  the  river's  brink,  with  the  bright 
sky  overhead,  and  in  the  sweet  consciousness  of  an  interest 
in  all  these  beauties  of  creation,  Roland  could  look  up  and 
say,  "  My  Father  made  them  all." 

At  length  he  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  which 
it  was  his  ambition  to  reach. 

Large  numbers  like  himself  were  preparing  for  the  ascent, 
but  none  on  foot,  save  our  young  aspirant. 

On  through  thick  green  foliage,  and  over  rocky  paths,  he 
pressed  his  way,  occasionally  stopping  to  rest  under  some 
shady  canopy. 

Frequently  in  company  with  youthful  parties,  whose 
merry  chatter  disturbed  the  thoughts  which  began  to  crowd 
upon  Roland,  as  the  ascent  brought  frequently  to  view  some 
new  scene  of  beauty  and  grandeur. 

(177) 


178  WOODCLIFF. 

As  he  pressed  on,  the  journey  became  still  more  toilsome 
and  difficult,  the  road  stony  and  rough ;  and  Longfellow's 
Excelsior  came  fresh  upon  his  memory.  Seating  himself 
for  awhile,  he  repeated  audibly  the  beautiful  lines. 

The  fresh  mountain  air  inspired  him  with  renewed  cour 
age  and  determination,  and,  starting  once  more,  he  strained 
every  nerve  in  his  efforts  to  scale  these  steep  mountain 
heights. 

The  voices  of  the  travellers  on  horseback  became  fainter 
every  moment,  until  at  length  he  was  left  in  perfect  soli 
tude  upon  these  dizzy  heights.  After  many  struggles  over 
rocks,  and  by  the  brinks  of  deep  ravines,  Roland  found 
himself  upon  the  top  of  Mount  Washington.  The  wind 
was  blowing  fiercely ;  he  could  scarcely  keep  his  feet ;  the 
howling  of  its  blasts  through  the  deep  solitudes,  and  wild 
whistling  music  among  the  tall  green  pines,  together  with 
the  cold  air,  which  almost  cut  his  cheeks,  and  made  him 
draw  his  coat  more  closely  around  him,  almost  banished 
the  thought  that  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  glowed  the 
heat  of  summer. 

He  was  highly  favored,  for  it  was  a  bright  sunny  day, 
and  the  atmosphere  perfectly  transparent.  With  cheeks 
tingling  from  excitement,  and  blood  stirring  in  every  vein, 
he  stood  entranced  amid  the  glorious  scenery.  He  felt  that 
he  had  conquered,  and  the  consciousness  nerved  the  young 
soul  for  further  efforts.  This  suited  the  tone  of  his  charac 
ter,  and  prefigured  the  temper  with  which  he  would  in  future 
fight  the  battle  of  life. 

He  looked  around — grandeur  marked  every  feature.  Be 
neath  him  lay  the  great  world,  the  theatre  of  future  con 
flicts.  The  busy  cities,  the  rivalries,  the  sins  of  men,  the 
trials  of  the  way,  the  din  of  battle,  the  "  Slough  of  Des 
pond,"  the  "  Giant  Despair," — but  here  certainly  was  also 
a  glimpse  of  the  "  Land  of  Beulah." 

Above,  the  glorious  sky,  so  vast,  so  magnificent !  around 
him,  the  scenery  which  no  pencil  could  ever  fully  paint. 


"EXCELSIOR."  179 

Deep  ravines,  towering  peaks  of  glory,  falls  of  water  dash 
ing  down  the  dizzy  heights,  and  beyond  !  peak  piled  on  peak, 
stretching  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  a  whole  amphitheatre 
of  glorious  mountains. 

A  voice  within  answered  to  the  voice  around  ;  it  was  the 
same  which  had  spoken  to  him  in  the  days  of  childhood, 
when  standing  in  one  of  his  native  glens,  among  the  rude 
mountains  of  Scotland,  he  had  listened  to  the  story  of  his 
martyred  ancestors.  *,.--. 

His  soul  swelled  then,  child  that  he  was,  with  lofty  emo 
tions.  It  swelled  now  with  fuller,  deeper  majesty,  as  he 
listened  to  the  voice  of  God  among  these  mountains ;  and 
on  through  life,  that  voice  will  follow  Roland.  He  took  out 
his  little  Testament  and  read,  "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto 
the  hills  from  whence  cometh  my  help."  And  again, 

"As  the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusalem,  so  the 
Lord  is  round  about  his  people." 

"  Need  I  look  farther  ?"  asked  Roland  of  his  soul.  "  God 
is  here!  My  God !  My  Father!" — and,  bowing  his  head, 
he  lifted  up  the  voice  of  prayer,  and  here  amid  these  moun 
tain  solitudes,  made  a  fresh  covenant  with  the  God  of  his 
martyred  fathers.  In  this  hour  of  rapt  communion,  he 
remembered  Effie,  his  orphan  sister,  and  Madeline,  the  dear 
little  friend  of  his  early  youth. 

Here,  surrounded  by  these  glorious  mountains,  in  this 
vast  solitude,  it  was  easy  to  imagine  the  glories  of  that 
mountain  of  the  Lord,  when  his  people  gathered  home  once 
more,  should  rest  in  peace ;  and  when  in  the  glories  of  the 
latter  days,  wars  and  tumults,  strife  and  discord,  sin  and 
misery,  should  forever  cease. 

"Upon  the  frontier  of  this  shadowy  land, 
We,  pilgrims  of  eternal  sorrow,  stand. 
What  realm  lies  forward  with  its  happier  store 

Of  forests  green  and  deep, 

Of  valleys  hushed  in  sleep, 
And  lakes  most  peaceful?  'Tis  the 

Land  of  Evermore. 


180  WOODCLIFF. 

"Very  far  off  its  marble  cities  seem  — 
Very  far  off  —  beyond  our  sensual  dream  — 
Its  woods,  unruffled  by  the  wild  winds  roar: 

Yet  does  the  turbulent  surge 

Howl  on  its  very  verge 
One  moment  —  and  we  breathe  within  the 

Evermore. 

"  They  whom  we  loved  and  lost  so  long  ago, 
Dwell  in  those  cities,  far  from  mortal  woe, 
Hunt  those  fresh  woodlands,  where  sweet  carollings  soar. 

Eternal  peace  have  they  : 

God  wipes  their  tears  away: 
They  drink  that  river  of  life  which  flows  for 

Evermore. 

"Thither  we  hasten  through  these  regions  dim; 
But  lo,  the  wide  wings  of  the  seraphim 
Shine  in  the  sunset !  On  that  joyous  shore 

Our  lighted  hearts  shall  know 

The  life  of  long  ago: 
The  sorrow  burdened  past  shall  fade  for 

Evermore." 

There  was  nothing  but  the  shelter  of  a  rude  shed,  but  so 
enraptured  was  our  young  traveller  that  he  resolved   to 


In  the  evening,  the  screams  of  the  wild  mountain  birds 
added  to  the  grandeur  of  the  scene ;  and  often  could  be 
seen  in  the  air,  sailing  along  in  graceful  swoops,  the  Ameri 
can  eagle,  proud  emblem  of  our  country's  glory.  In  the 
deep  night  season,  the  growling  of  wild  animals,  the  howl 
ing  of  the  winds,  whose  deep  sighs  through  the  ravines, 
filled  the  whole  air  with  music — not  sweet  and  silvery,  but 
grand,  majestic,  overpowering ;  for  nature  has  her  deep 
bass  as  well  as  her  rich  tenor,  and  her  sweet  warbling 
treble.  Here  was  the  effect  of  the  deep  bass  of  harmoni 
ous  instruments ;  and  to  crown  all,  distant  thunder  rolled 
from  cliff  to  cliff,  echoing  until  lost  in  the  distance,  and 
Roland  looked  on,  and  listened  in  eloquent  silence.  His 


"EXCELSIOR."  181 

visit  was  drawing  to  a  close  —  how  could  he  descend  from 
such  heights  of  grandeur,  to  the  busy,  bustling  world 
again  ? 

But  duty  called;  packing  up  his  little  all,  and  gathering 
the  ferns  and  mosses  in  a  box  which  he  had  brought  for 
the  purpose,  he  commenced  his  descent.  Not  soon  should 
he  forget  the  inspiration  of  these  vast  solitudes,  away  from 
man,  alone  with  God.  He  buckled  on  his  armor,  and  with 
a  brave  spirit  sped  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 

Roland  had  heard  much  of  the  beauty  of  the  charming  lake 
Winnipiseogee,  which  lay  on  the  route  to  the  mountains, 
and  thither  he  resolved  to  tarry  for  awhile. 

Arriving  in  the  evening,  he  rambled  along  its  beautiful 
margin,  the  glorious  mountains  spanning  the  horizon,  here 
adding  features  of  beauty,  there  of  grandeur. 

It  was  a  great  transition  from  such  wild  magnificence,  to 
this  placid  beauty ;  the  calm  lake,  the  pretty  little  hotel, 
the  boating  parties  on  the  clear  water,  the  refined  society, 
the  grassy  banks  with  the  fine  old  trees  that  formed  so 
many  bowers  of  shade,  for  here  it  was  really  summer;  all 
this  was  soothing,  not  stirring  as  the  mountain  tops. 

Day  by  day,  musing,  sketching,  rambling,  or  rowing 
about  in  the  little  boat,  owned  by  the  family,  he  enjoyed 
nis  summer  recreation. 

One  evening,  returning  from  one  of  these  excursions  on 
the  lake,  stepping  on  shore,  whom  should  he  encounter  but 
Edmund  Xorris. 

Seizing  Roland's  hand,  he  exclaimed,  "  Why,  my  good 
fellow  !  how  came  you  here  ?" 

"  On  foot,  Edmund  1"  said  Roland,  smiling. 

"But  where  are  you  staying?" 

"At  that  little  cottage,  Edmund." 

"  Go,  pack  up  your  duds,  Roland,  and  come  with  me,  I 
can't  do  without  you." 

"  Who  is  in  your  party,  Edmund  ?" 

"  Only  my  mother  and  sister." 
16 


182  WOODCLIFF. 

"  They  would  consider  me  an  intruder,  Edmund  ;  besides, 
it  is  impossible,  I  can't  stay  at  a  hotel." 

"And  why  not,  sir  ?  I  think  I  know,  Roland ;  I  will  not 
take  any  denial  — you  have  done  me  infinite  service,  and  I 
can  never  repay  you.  I  must  introduce  you  to  my  mother, 
Roland;  she  is  anxious  to  know  you,"  and  placing  bis 
friend's  arm  within  his  own,  he  hurried  him  off  to  the  hotel. 

"  My  friend,  Roland  Bruce,  mother,  my  sister,  Miss 
Nurris,"  and  Roland  bowed  to  a  very  pleasant  looking 
middle  aged  lady,  and  an  interesting  young  girl,  in  tho 
person  of  Jessie  Norris. 

"  We  are  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Bruce," 
replied  the  mother,  at  the  same  time  extending  her  hand; 
"this  is  a  meeting  that  I  have  long  desired." 

The  summer  passed  rapidly,  and  the  party  separated  for 
their  respective  destinations. 

Edmund  would  not  hear  of  Roland's  return  on  foot,  con 
sequently  they  travelled  together  to  the  point  nearest 
Woodcliff,  and  there  they  parted,  mutually  pleased ;  Ed 
mund  to  his  home,  and  Roland  back  to  Woodcliff,  to  pay  a 
short  parting  visit  to  Effie. 

"  We  shall  meet  at  college,  Roland,"  said  Edmund. 

"Yes,  and  it  must  be  a  hard  working  year;  I  can  only 
go  two  terms  after  this. " 

Another  week  near  Woodcliff,  and  Roland  prepared  for 
V>51  again. 

"  I  have  come,  dear  Effie,  to  say  farewell  for  awhile," 
aid  Roland.  "  I  have  brought  you  some  beautiful  ferns 
and  mosses,  and  when  I  come  again,  I  will  expect  to  see 
the  basket." 

"  I  can  make  two,  Roland,  one  for  each  window  in  the 
drawing  room ;  Madeline  will  be  so  pleased, — they  are  botfi 
for  her." 

"  Come,  Effie,  let  us  sing  our  mother's  favorite  hymn," 
and  the  orphans  sang  with  sweet  voices,  and  full  hearts, 


"EXCELSIOR."  183 

"God  of  our  fathers,  by  whose  care, 

Thy  people  still  are  blest; 
Be  with  us  through  our  pilgrimage, 
Conduct  us  to  our  rest." 

"  Now,  sister,  let  me  go  for  one  minute  up  the  staircase ; 
don't  come  with  me,  I  want  to  be  alone." 

Roland  stood  upon  the  landing,  and  listened  td  the  sweet 
murmurs  of  the  Eolian  harp.  The  summer  wind  swept 
lightly  over  the  strings,  and  seemed  to  sigh,  "  farewell,  fare 
well;"  but  for  a  moment,  a  stronger  breeze  swept  over 
them,  and  higher,  fuller  arose  the  aerial  music,  and  "  aloft, 
aloft"  they  whispered. 

He  descended  with  a  smile,  and  said, 

"  Now,  dear  Effie,  I  am  ready ;  God  forever  bless  my 
darling  sister;  don't  forget  '  Looking  aloft!  Looking  aloft.'  " 

She  smiled  through  her  tears,  and  said, 

"  I'll  try,  dear  Roland,  but  I  am  not  so  strong  as  you." 

Back  again  on  the  first  day  of  the  term,  Roland  was 
warmly  welcomed  by  the  faculty. 

He  returned  bravely,  cheerfully,  to  his  self-imposed  ser 
vice  of  drudgery  ;  but  the  presence  of  many  new  members 
subjected  him  again  to  the  same  ordeal  through  which  he 
had  passed  the  first  half  of  the  former  year. 

The  same  diligence  and  fidelity,  the  same  faithful  friend 
ship  for  Edmund,  the  same  honors  at  the  close,  marked  the 
second  year ;  and  at  the  period  of  vacation,  another  visit 
to  dear  Effie,  to  the  familiar  spots  around  Woodcliff,  and  he 
was  anticipating  a  return  for  the  last  year  to  finish  his 
college  course. 

"  You  cannot  imagine,  dear  brother,  how  delighted  Made 
line  was  with  the  baskets  —  '  did  he  gather  them  with  his 
own  hands,  Effie  ?'  she  used  to  ask  me  day  after  day,  and 
I  saw  her  place  a  few  of  the  ferns  which  I  had  saved,  away 
in  one  of  her  school  books.  '  Thank  Roland  for  me,'  was 
her  last  message ;  '  tell  him  I  expect  to  see  him  a  great 


184  WOODCLIPF. 

man,  delivering  orations,  or  public  speeches,  at  any  rate,  at 
Maple  Lane,  yet.'  " 

Roland  smiled,  as  he  said,  "  The  same  little  enthusiast 
yet." 

"  Little  !  brother !  why,  you  forget,  you  have  not  seen 
Madeline  for  two  years;  she  is  no  longer  a  little  girl;  she 
is  fifteen  now,  and  unusually  tall  for  that  age.  I  don't 
believe  that  you  would  call  her  Maddy  now." 

Roland's  countenance  fell;  for  this  innocent  hint  had 
brought  again  most  forcibly  the  conviction  that  the  ap 
proach  of  womanhood  was  building  a  gulf  which  could  not 
be  passed,  and  the  sweet  intimacy  of  playful  childhood 
could  be  no  more  renewed. 

~  His  third  year  at  college  was  a  season  of  rapid  progress. 
On  his  return,  Dr.  Kingsley  sent  for  Roland  to  his  private 
room. 

"  You  have  been  well  tried,  my  son,"  said  the  good  man. 
"  I  have  looked  upon  your  course,  Roland,  with  pride ; 
shall  I  say  it  to  a  boy  ?  with  reverence.  Not  one  of  fifty 
would  have  borne  the  indignities  of  your  position,  and 
risen  above  them  all,  as  you  have ;  you  shall  be  rewarded. 
The  offices  which  you  have  performed  so  nobly  will  be 
given  to  another,  little  Jack,  the  Janitor's  nephew,  and  an 
other  boy  hired  for  the  purpose ;  you,  Roland,  shall  have 
all  your  time  for  study." 

Roland  was  a  manly  boy,  but  with  a  warm,  tender  heart. 
His  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  gratitude. 

Seizing  Dr.  Kingsley's  hand,  he  pressed  a  warm  kiss  upon 
its  wrinkled  surface,  and  said, 

"  Words  cannot  thank  you,  Dr.  Kingsley,  for  all  your 
goodness ;  the  training  of  this  college  is  more  than  a  for 
tune  to  me." 

"  You  must  not  lavish  all  your  thanks  upon  me,  Roland. 
Edmund  Norris  has  told  me  all  your  trials,  all  the  insults 
which  you  formerly  received ;  he  has  told  me  of  all  your 
patient  endurance,  and  noble  return^of  good  for  evil.  Mrs. 


"EXCELSIOR."  185 

Norris  is  wealthy,  she  has  offered  to  place  you  exactly  by 
the  side  of  her  son,  bearing  all  your  expenses,  and  occupy 
ing  the  same  room.  I  judged  you  by  myself,  and  thought 
that  you  would  rather  be  indebted  to  the  college.  You 
will  occupy  the  room  with  Edmund ;  but  we  must  have  the 
honor  of  educating  Roland  Bruce." 

"  You  will  be  repaid,  my  dear  sir,'  for  all  your  kindness 
and  delicacy.  Oh  !  how  faithful  are  the  promises  of  God : 
'  Looking  aloft'  was  the  motto  which  my  dear  mother  left* 
me  on  her  death-bed ;  I  have  tried  to  act  upon  it ;  and 
endeavoring  to  do  my  duty,  have  looked  upward  for  God's 
blessing,  and  have  never  been  disappointed." 

Dr.  Kingsley  straitened  himself  up,  put  on  a  sterner  look, 
took  off  his  spectacles,  that  seemed  suddenly  to  become 
moistened,  and  jerking  his  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket, 
blew  his  nose  violently,  saying, 

"  I  have  a  bad  cold,  Roland ;  I  don't  know  how  it  came, 
but  I  did  not  feel  it  until  you  came  into  the  room." 

Roland  smiled,  for  Dr.  Kingsley  did  not  like  it  to  be 
known  what  a  warm  sympathetic  heart  beaft  under  that 
cold,  and  somewhat  stern  exterior. 

Roland's  position,  this  year,  was  a  happy  one ;  and  Ed 
mund  was  about  as  much  the  gainer  as  he. 

Rooming  together,  Roland's  powerful  example  was  a 
strong  incentive  to  the  young  man ;  and  though  often  tempted 
to  relax,  what  at  first  was  a  severe  task,  became  first  a 
habit,  then  a  pleasure. 

A  secret  plot  for  some  forbidden  pleasure  was  again  agi 
tating  among  the  wild  ones. 

"  You  need  not  ask  Ned  Norris  to  join  us,"  said  one  of 
his  former  companions,  "  he's  among  the  saints  now ;  he 
dare  not  say  that  his  life  is  his  own  when  Roland  Bruce  is 
about.  I  don't  care  much  about  his  company,  but  it  is 
deucedly  inconvenient  to  miss  his  purse,  it  was  always 
open  in  former  days — but  old  '  Boots'  has  the  charge  of  him 
now,  and  there  is  no  use  of  asking  him  to  join  this  spree." 
16* 


18G  WOOr>CLIFF. 

"  Do  you  dare  call  him  '  Boots'  again  ?"  said  Stanley, 
doubling  his  fist,  "  I  told  you  all  that  I'd  knock  the  first 
fellow  down  that  insults  Roland  Bruce ;  there  is  not  one 
here  fit  to  wipe  his  shoes." 

"How  came  you  to  turn  round  so  soon,  Stanley?  you 
were  among  the  most  bitter  of  his  enemies,"  said  Thornton. 

"When  you  all  stood  off  from  me  as  if  I  were  a  leper, 
Roland  Bruce  quietly,  nobly  took  care  of  me ;  he  watched 
me  on  my  sick  bed,  as  if  I  had  been  his  friend,  instead  of 
his  enemy ;  and  do  you  think  that  I'll  ever  hear  you  speak 
against  such  a  fellow  as  that?" 

The  chief  offender  slunk  away,  evidently  frightened. 

"  You  never  told  me  so,  Stanley ;  it  must  have  been 
before  I  came." 

"  I  tell  you  now,  Brown,  Roland  shall  be  treated  as  a 
gentleman,  so  long  as  I  am  in  this  college ;  so  clear  out,  or 
I  may  knock  you  down." 

Brown  crawled  away,  and  Roland  was  everywhere  in 
the  ascendant. 

Many  envied  him  his  quiet  superiority ;  but  all  respected 
the  studious  youth  that  was  carrying  off  so  many  of  the 
honors. 

His  path  was  henceforth  a  pleasant  one,  until  one  morn 
ing,  whom  should  he  see  among  the  new  students  but 
Harry  Castleton  and  Charles  Davenport ! 

Roland's  appearance  was  thatof  agentleman ;  for,  although 
he  had  not  the  changes  which  some  had,  he  always  con 
trived  to  appear  genteel. 

After  breakfast,  Roland  advanced  to  the  young  men,  and 
politely  extended  his  hand.  Charles,  with  a  supercilious 
air,  turned  on  his  heel,  saying, 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir;  we  do  not  know  you." 

Roland  had  acted  the  part  of  a  gentleman  and  a  Chris 
tian,  and  he  left  the  young  men  to  imagine  that  they  had 
humbled  him. 

They  soon  observed  his  intimacy  with  Edmund  Norris, 


"EXCELSIOR."  187 

whose  family  they  had  met  elsewhere.  Determined  to  annoy 
him  still  farther,  they  sought  the  first  opportunity  of  speak 
ing  alone. 

"  Do  you  know  this  young  Bruce  ?"  said  Harry. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  good  cause  to  know  him ;  he  has  saved 
me  from  many  a  false  step  and  wicked  companion." 

"  Do  you  know  his  origin  ?"  continued  Harry. 

"  I  know  that  he  is  Scotch,  and  had  a  good  mother." 

"  His  mother  was  a  common  huckster,  and  he  no  better 
than  a  beggar;  he  lived  in  my  uncle's  neighborhood,  and  I 
have  seen  him  many  a  time  with  old  patched  clothes,  and 
scarcely  a  shoe  to  his  feet." 

"  Indeed  1"  said  Edmund.  "  I  know  that  he  is  very  poor ; 
he  has  told  me  much  of  his  history.  You  have  told  me 
now  how  poor  he  is — shall  I  tell  you  how  noble  he  is  in 
the  estimation  of  all  true  hearts  in  this  college  ?  You  are 
at  mean  work,  sir,  but  you  will  not  harm  Roland  Bruce  ; 
he  is  above  your  mark,  sir.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Castleton." 

Edmund  saw  that  the  two  were  cultivating  the  intimacy 
of  several  of  the  upstart  boys,  sons  of  the  merchant  princes 
of  New  York,  with  gold  watches,  full  purses,  fashionable 
wardrobes,  empty  brains,  and  cold,  sordid  souls. 

Brown  was  one  of  them — a  mean,  cowardly  fellow,  who 
had  not  forgotten  the  attack  of  Stanley,  and  was  glad  to 
find  allies  in  the  two  new  students. 

"  There  comes  Boots,"  said  Brown,  one  evening  to  Harry 
Castleton. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?"  was  the  quick  reply ;  and  Brown 
pointed  to  Roland,  who  was  walking  in  the  lawn,  arm  in 
arm  with  Edmund  Norris. 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  '  Boots,'  Brown  ?" 

"I'll  whisper  the  story  to  you — do  you  know  that  in  th« 
first  two  years  that  he  was  here,  he  earned  his  education 
by  blacking  boots,  carrying  up  wood,  making  fires,  &c.,  and 
now  he  has  the  presumption  to  hold  himself  up  above  us 


188  WOODCLIFF. 

fellows,  and  the  faculty  really  place  him  constantly  before 
us  as  a  pattern  to  follow.'' 

"  That  is  a  good  joke/'  answered  Castleton ;  "I'll  remem 
ber  that  story  —  a  common  boot-black !• 'pon  my  word! 
brought  here  among  gentlemen !  Faugh  !  I  shall  smell  boots 
every  time  I  pass  him." 

The  next  week,  a  drawing  was  on  the  wall  in  the  passage 
to  the  recitation  room,  representing  a  boy  blacking  boots, 
and  underneath  written  "  Boots''  at  his  profession ;  and  an 
other  picture  of  a  boy  with  a  basket  of  boot-blacking  and 
brushes,  receiving  a  diploma;  under  which  was  written 
"  Boots  graduates,  ready  to  practise  on  gentlemen's  feet." 
Roland  and  Edmund  saw  the  low  proceeding — they  did  not 
notice  it ;  but,  on  going  out  of  the  hall,  Castleton  and  Da 
venport  passed  close  to  the  young  men. 

"Don't  you  smell  boots,  Davenport?"  said  Castleton. 

Stanley  was  near ;  he  heard  the  insult,  as  also  did  Norris. 

Instantly,  the  two  were  surrounded ;  and  Stanley,  en 
raged,  said, 

"I  will  bear  it  no  longer;  you  shall  not  insult  Roland 
Bruce ;"  and  he  gave  Castleton  a  violent  blow  in  the  face. 
Edmund,  too,  joined  the  fight.  Castleton  and  Davenport 
tried  to  defend  themselves,  but  in  vain ;  surrounded  by 
several  of  the  boys,  they  received  a  sound  drubbing. 

Roland  was  distressed — he  was  a  brave  boy,  and  though 
he  knew  that  in  the  anger  of  the  combatants  he  was  likely 
to  become  entangled  in  the  broil,  he  stepped  forward,  and 
placing  himself  between  Edmund  and  Castleton,  he  said, 

"  Edmund,  I  beseech  you,  come  with  me  ;  it  is  not  worth 
minding  —  leave  these  boys  to  themselves;  they  do  not 
harm  me." 

"  Go  away,  Roland ;  I  must  punish  them  in  a  way  which 
they  will  never  forget." 

Roland,  however,  persevered,  and  succeeded  in  drawing 
away  his  friend. 

The  boys  each  had  black  eyes,  swollen  faces,  and  torn 
coats  for  their  reward. 


"EXCELSIOR."  189 

They  did  not  again  try  the  same  game,  but  their  hatred 
of  Roland  was  by  no  means  lessened ;  it  was  rather  in 
creased. 

The  term  drew  rapidly  to  a  close — Roland  was  looking 
forward  anxiously  to  his  embarkation  on  the  theatre  of 
human  life.  He  knew  that  he  had  nothing  but  his  educa 
tion,  and  simple  trust  in  God.  That  was  enough  for  his 
confidence.  He  graduated  with  high  honors.  Edmund  was 
to  stay  another  year,  and  grieved  to  part  with  his  friend. 

Dr.  Kingsley  congratulated  Roland  warmly — 

"  You  have  done  nobly,  sir,"  said  the  President;  "your 
friends  may  well  be  proud  of  you." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  but  .two,  who  care  par 
ticularly  for  my  success,  and  they  are  both  young  girls ;  one 
my  sister,  and  the  other  a  little  friend." 

The  good  President  gave  him  warm  parting  counsels, 
and  on  shaking  his  hand  for  the  last  time,  said, 

"  Remember,  you  have  friends  at  college ;  your  Alma 
Mater  will  always  be  proud  of  her  son." 

The  young  men  were  all  busily  occupied,  and  full  of  eager 
anticipations.  Vacation  had  arrived,  and  all  had  some  dear 
home  circle  waiting  for  them,  but  Roland.  He  had  none ; 
and,  on  the  waste  of  life,  sometimes  he  could  not  but  feel 
like  a  waif  among  the  multitude,  but  never  long. 

"  Looking  aloft"  was  the  general  tone  of  his  brave  spirit. 
With  five  dollars  in  his  pocket-book,  he  prepared  to  leave 
the  college ;  and,  on  opening  it,  he  found  ten  dollars  more, 
with  the  pencilled  words — 

"  You  have  been  a  faithful  banker ;  accept  this  from  Ed 
mund." 

Taking  leave  of  his  kind  friends,  he  turned  his  face  to 
wards  Woodcliff,  and  Effie  looked  with  pride  upon  her  dear 
brother,  as  she  read  the  diploma  over  and  over  again. 

"Would  not  our  dear  mother  be  happy,  Roland?"  said 
the  young  girl ;  "  you  have  accomplished  her  desires  ;  may 
all  the  rest  be  fulfilled,  dear  brother." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

STRIFE. 

"  WHERE  are  you  going,  Roland  ?"  asked  Effie,  with  an 
anxious  face. 

"  I  think  to  New  York,  sister." 

"  Have  you  any  money,  Roland  ?" 

"  But  very 'little,  sister,  excepting  in  the  bank  of  Heaven ;" 
was  the  rep/y,  and  yet  Roland  smiled,  it  seemed  so  daring 
to  set  out  on  life's  journey  so  penniless. 

"I  have  five  dollars,  brother,  you  must  take  it;  Miss 
Matilda  gave  it  to  me  for  some  very  fine  work  which  I 
have  just  finished  for  Madeline ;"  and  away  ran  Effie  to 
bring  her  pocket-book,  and  attempted  to  empty  its  contents 
into  Roland's  hand. 

Roland  shrank  from  the  gift.  "  I  have  fifteen  dollars, 
Effie,  that  must  do  until  I  reach  the  great  city." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  do,  Roland  ?" 

"I  shall  see  when  I  reach  New  York." 

"  How  shall  I  write  to  you  ?     I  shall  be  so  anxious.'' 

"  I  will  write  first,  and  let  you  know  where  I  am." 

"  Give  me  your  valise,  brother/'  and  Eifie  placed  in  it 
some  sandwiches,  which  she  had  prepared  with  her  own 
little  hands. 

With  a  hasty  farewell,  and  a  brother's  warm  kiss, 
Roland  turned  his  face  towards  the  great  metropolis,  brave, 
hopeful,  trusting,  still  "  Looking  aloft."  Oh  !  what  need 
of  the  talisman  now  1 

Sometimes  a  good-natured  farmer  would  give  him  a  lift 
on  the  road;  and,  at  the  end  of  one  week,  he  found  himself, 
(190) 


STRIPE.  191 

weary  and  lonely,  entering  the  great  city.     One  dollar  was 
all  that  was  left  in  his  pocket-book. 

Rambling  listlessly  up  Broadway,  the  multitude  de 
pressed  him  ;  for  he  felt  himself  friendless  indeed,  in  this 
vast  surging  crowd. 

Passing  Trinity  Church,  he  perceived  it  open,  for  it  was 
the  time  of  the  evening  service.  The  sound  of  the  organ 
cheered  his  spirits,  and,  joining  in  the  solemn  service,  for 
awhile  he  forgot  his  worldly  cares,  and  worshipped  the 
Unseen. 

Perceiving  a  gentleman  mounting  the  steeple,  Roland 
followed,  with  the  injunction  from  the  sexton  not  to  stay 
too  long,  for  he  should  wish  to  close  the  church.  The 
gentleman  took  a  hasty  glance,  but  soon  descended,  leaving 
Roland  to  his  meditations. 

What  a  busy,  bustling  crowd  below  !  Did  they,  indeed, 
belong  to  the  one  great  brotherhood  of  man  ?  Each  one 
pushing  his  own  way,  apparently  so  regardless  of  his 
neighbor's  motions  ;  some  to  happy,  smiling  homes ;  some 
to  dens  of  poverty  and  misery ;  many  to  haunts  of  sin. 
And  the  streets  so  filled  with  carts,  carriages,  omnibuses, 
and  cars,  all  threading  their  way  so  skilfully  through  the 
thronged  thoroughfare. 

The  solitudes  of  the  grand  mountains  was  to  be  alone 
with  God  ;  the  dreariness  of  this  human  crowd  was  oppres 
sive,  and  here,  away  in  the  lofty  steeple,  near  the  clouds, 
far  above  the  din  and  press  of  this  great  multitude  of 
humanity,  he  felt  that  he  could  breathe  once  more. 

Glancing  over  the  vast  city,  the  numerous  steeples  all 
around  him  reminded  him  that  he  was  among  Christians. 
"So  many  Christians!"  thought  Roland,  "and  not  one 
knows  me ;  but  then  every  Sunday,  in  these  houses  dedi 
cated  to  God,  they  pray  for  the  fatherless  and  the  homeless, 
and  I  am  one." 

So  deeply  was  he  engrossed  in  thought,  and  so  soothing 
was  the  quiet  of  this  retreat  from  the  busy  world,  that 


192  WOODCLIFF. 

Roland  forgot  how  time  was  passing.  The  crowd  dimin 
ished,  evening  shadows  rendered  objects  below  somewhat 
indistinct,  and  the  fair  moon  appeared  to  light  the  heavens. 
Sailing  majestically  along,  sometimes  hidden  by  clouds, 
then  emerging  again  into  all  her  calm  beauty,  Roland 
could  not  but  compare  her  course  to  the  journey  of  God's 
dear  children  through  this  wilderness  :  sometimes  obscured 
by  sorrow,  yet  always  coming  forth  again  into  the  calm, 
clear  sky  of  perfect  peace. 

Roland  remembered  that  he  had  no  place  where  to  lay 
his  weary  limbs  that  night,  and  he  repeated  some  of  the 
promises. 

"  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the 
Lord  will  take  me  up." 

The  heavens  seemed  to  smile  upon  him  ;  he  felt  that  he 
was  God?s  own  child,  and  repeated  solemnly,  "  Our  Father, 
who  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  thy  name,  thy  kingdom 
come,  thy  will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven,  give  us 
this  day  our  daily  bread,"  his  heart  was  comforted ;  and  he 
descended  the  dark  stair-case  with  the  same  feeling  of 
security  as  if  he  had  pressed  the  band  of  his  Heavenly 
Father  guiding  him  safely  along. 

When  he  reached  the  church,  he  found  it  locked ;  he  had 
stayed  so  long,  the  sexton  had  forgotten  him,  but  he  was 
not  afraid — afraid  in  God's  dear  house,  with  the  soft,  sweet 
moon  shining  on  him  through  the  stained  window-glass ! 
Oh!  no  —  there  was  a  sense  of  sweet  security  pervading 
his  heart,  and,  laying  himself  down  in  one  of  the  cushioned 
pews,  he  slept  the  sleep  of  perfect  security  in  the  Father 
above 

Locked  up  until  the  time  for  the  morning  service,  the 
sexton  was  both  surprised  and  displeased  at  the  sight  of 
the  tenant  in  rich  Mr.  Seldin's  pew.  Roland  apologized, 
but  the  old  man  was  surly,  and  hurried  him  out  of  the 
church. 

He  was  hungry  and  thirsty,  so  the  first  thing  that  he 


STRIFE.  193 

sought  was  some  food.  Furnishing  himself  with  some 
crackers  and  cheese,  and  refreshing  himself  with  a  drink 
of  water,  he  commenced  his  first  day's  battle  with  life. 

Up  and  down  the  long,  crowded  streets,  in  the  stores, 
at  the  offices,  along  the  wharves,  he  sought  in  vain  for 
some  employment.  Hundreds  of  just  such  applications  • 
were  refused  daily.  All  asked  the  name  of  some  friend,  he 
had  none  to  give  but  Dr.  Kingsley.  Some  smiled  at  his 
answers  when  asked  what  he  could  do. 

"  He  could  keep  books,  copy  law-papers,  go  errands, 
clean  pavements,  sweep  out  offices,  any  thing  that  would 
give  him  the  means  of  an  honest  livelihood." 

Night  came,  but  without  a  shelter.  It  was  late,  and  he 
was  weary,  so,  turning  into  one  of  the  market-houses,  he 
had  no  other  resource. 

On  one  of  the  stalls  lay  a  poor  boy,  pale  and  emaciated. 
Roland  saw  that  he  was  sick,  so  placing  his  valise  under 
his  head,  over  which  he  had  thrown  some  soft  garment, 
he  laid  himself  down  to  sleep  by  his  brother's  side.  "  He 
has  more  need  than  I,"  thought  Roland,  as  he  resigned  the 
softer  pillow  to  the  poor  boy.  Presently  a  police-officer' 
came  along. 

"  What  are  you  about  here,  you  young  rascals  ?  Have 
you  been  out  on  a  plundering  job  ?" 

Roland  raised  his  head  and  said,  "  I  do  not  think,  sir, 
that  you  will  find  this  poor  boy  to  be  a  vagrant ;  and,  as 
for  myself,  I  am  poor  and  homeless,  that  is  all." 

"  New  York  is  a  bad  place  for  a  young  chap  like  you  to 
be  in,  without  a  home." 

"I  know  it,  sir;  I  have  walked  all  day,  searching  for 
work,  but  have  found  none ;  can  you  tell  me  what  to  do  ?" 

"  I  saw  an  advertisement  for  a  boy  in  a  printer's  office, 
perhaps  you  may  do;  but  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  to,o 
old/' 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  the  direction,  I 
will  go  in  the  morning,  and  see  what  success  I  shall  havej' 
17 


194  WOODCLIFF.  > 

After  oating  sparingly  of  his  little  stock,  Kola  id  started 
to  find  the  printer's  office.  -" 

"  We  do  not  take  boys  without  references ;  you  are  too 
old  for  us  at  any  rate,"  and  Roland  was  disappointed  again. 

Roving  about,  he  asked  permission  to  saw  wood,  to  clean 
pavements,  and  obtained  a  few  such  jobs ;  but  his  heart 
was  sinking ;  the  promises  were  fading,  and,  at  the  close 
of  the  third  day,  wearied  and  heart-sick,  the  same  officer 
met  Roland  again  in  the  same  market-place. 

"  What !  my  boy,  still  roving  about  ?"  said  the  man. 

"  I  have  walked  for  three  days,  and  all  that  I  could  find 
to  do  was  to  saw  some  wood,  and  to  clean  a  few  pave 
ments.  I  have  but  a  few  cents  left,  where  shall  I  turn  ?'' 

"  Come  home  with  me,  I  believe  that  you  are  an  honest 
boy ;  you  shall  not  sleep  out  in  the  street  again." 

And  Richard  Green  took  Roland  with  him  to  his  com 
fortable  little  home. 

"  Here,  wife,  give  this  poor  fellow  a  good  supper  and  a 
comfortable  bed,  he  has  come  to  this  great  city  without 
money  or  friends  ;  we  must  do  something  for  him." 

Martha  Green  was  a  rough  woman,  with  a  kind,  womanly 
heart;  she  had  a  son,  about  Roland's  age,  away  at  sea, 
and  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  hard,  wrinkled  hand,  as 
she  asked, 

"  Have  you  a  mother,  my  son  ?" 

The  question  opened  the  flood-gates  penned  up  in  the 
poor  youth's  heart,  and,  manly  as  he  was,  weakened  by 
suffering  and  hunger,  he  could  not  restrain  the  tears  that 
would  burst  forth,  as  he  replied, 

"  No,  Mrs.  Green,  my  mother  is  in  heaven ;  I  should  be 
doubly  grieved  if  I  thought  that  she  knew  of  the  trials  of 
these  few  hard  days." 

The  good  woman  busied  herself  about  the  neat  kitchen, 
and  soon  invited  Roland  to  a  warm  and  comfortable  meal. 
A  cup  of  warm  coffee,  some  nicely  cooked  meat  and  pota 
toes,  with  home-made  bread  and  butter,  was  a  luxury  which 


STRIFE.  195 

he  had  not  seen  for  weeks;  and  when,  at  last,  he  lay 
down  in  the  snug  room  on  a  clean  bed,  with  everything 
around  him  so  comfortable,  language  could  not  express  the 
gratitude  which  filled  his  heart  at  the  gracious  answer  to 
his  prayer. 

Cheered  by  the  sympathy  of  these  humble  friends, 
Roland  set  out  again  with  renewed  hope. 

Rambling  about  from  street  to  street,  his  eye  was  at 
length  attracted  by  a  sign,  which  directed  him  to  the 
"  Noon-day  Prayer  Meeting." 

Taking  his  seat  among  the  worshippers,  he  was  pleased 
to  see  Richard  Green,  his  humble  friend,  among  the  com 
pany.  He  felt  that  God  was  there,  and  deeply,  earnestly, 
did  Roland  pray  for  guidance. 

"  I  was  glad  to  see  you  there,  Richard,"  said  Roland. 

"  Why,  you  see,  my  son,  I've  been  one  of  the  roughs  in 
my  time ;  but,  since  I've  been  coming  here,  I  find  that 
there's  something  else  to  do  in  this  world  beside  getting 
bread  and  meat.  I  see  a  great  deal  in  my  line  to  make 
me  hate  the  ways  of  sin,  for  it  always  brings  misery;  so 
I've  given  up  all  my  bad  ways,  and,  by  the  help  of  God, 
I'm  bound  for  Canaan." 

They  walked  back  again  to  the  officer's  home,  and,  pick 
ing  up  the  paper,  Roland  perceived  an  advertisement  — 
''  Wanted,  a  boy  to  clean  a  lawyer's  office,  go  errands,  etc., 
with  the  privilege  of  reading  law  in  the  office." 

After  dinner,  he  called  upon  Mr.  Dean.  He  was  ques 
tioned  closely  as  to  his  previous  knowledge,  his  hand 
writing,  etc.  Roland  showed  his  letter  from  Dr.  Kingsley, 
speaking  in  the  highest  terms  of  his  character  and  acquire 
ments.  Mr.  Dean  was  a  shrewd  man,  and  soon  made  an 
engagement  with  Roland. 

Grateful  to  his  dear  Heavenly  Father,  Roland  passed  a 
happy  day,  and  wrote  immediately  to  Effie,  telling  her  of 
his  good  fortune,  and  giving  her  his  direction. 

Ere  entering  upon  his  labors,  he  walked  down  to  the 


196  WOODCLIFF. 

Battery.  All  was  so  refreshing — the  quiet  water  seemed 
so  peaceful,  its  gentle  murmurs  calmed  his  fevered  brow, 
and,  "  Looking  aloft"  once  more  with  cheerful  hop*,  he 
mused  gratefully  upon  the  past,  hopefully  upon  the  future. 

"  How  I  should  like  Madeline  to  know  something  of  my 
good  fortune,"  thought  he ;  "  but  would  I  like  her  to  know 
of  my  poverty  ?  my  misery  ?  Would  I  like  her  to  know 
that  I  had  to  sleep  out  two  nights  in  the  market-house, 
and  then  dependent  for  shelter  on  a  police  officer  ?" 

Roland  winced  under  these  bitter  thoughts. 

"  The  gulf  is  wide,  indeed  —  when  she  emerges  into  the 
gay  world,  she  will  forget  the  poor  boy  at  Woodcliff." 

The  next  morning,  Roland  entered  upon  his  duties; 
they  were  endless  —  cleaning  the  office,  making  fires,  run 
ning  errands,  copying  law  papers,  early  and  late,  left  but 
little  time  for  reading  law ;  perhaps  one  hour  a  day  was 
all  that  he  could  save  from  his  unceasing  toil. 

Having  considerable  literary  taste,  he  wrote  frequently, 
after  retiring  at  night,  articles  for  the  daily  press. 

They  always  seemed  acceptable,  and  the  Editor,  who 
really  delighted  to  encourage  young  genius,  advertised, 
"If  the  person,  writing  over  the  signature  of  Randolph, 
will  call  at  the  office,  he  will  hear  something  to  his  advan 
tage." 

Roland  called — the  Editor  was  interested. 

"  You  must  not  write,  my  young  friend,  gratuitously.  I 
will  compensate  you  for  your  articles ;  send  me  a  weekly 
contribution,  and  I  will  remunerate  you." 

Roland  was  surprised  and  grateful  —  not  aware  of  his 
own  merits,  he  had  regarded  these  efforts  simply  as  means 
of  improvement,  and  had  not  dreamed  of  compensation. 

He  made  the  agreement  with  the  Editor,  and  then,  being 
questioned  as  to  his  present  employment,  his  kind  friend 
saw  that  he  was  overworked,  and  undervalued.  In  a  week 
or  two,  the  friendly  editor  sent  for  Roland  again,  and  said, 

"  I  have  spoken  to  a  distinguished  lawyer  of  this  city, 


STRIPE.  197 

who  is  fond  of  bringing  out  young  men ;  he  is  interested 
in  your  story,  and  if  you  will  wait  a  few  minutes,  he  will 
call  here." 

In  a  short  time,  a  gentleman,  with  a  manly  bearing,  and 
a  bright,  quick  glance,  entered  the  office. 

A  short  conversation  with  Roland  completed  the  agree 
ment,  and,  as  he  was  only  engaged  temporarily  at  Mr. 
Dean's,  it  was  soon  announced  that  he  must  get  another  in 
his  place,  for  in  a  week  more  he  would  leave  for  a  more 
lucrative  situation. 

Roland  soon  found  himself  among  people  infinitely  more 
refined,  for  Edgar  and  Helen  Thornly  were  both  attractive 
young  persons. 

Edgar  had  just  returned  from  college ;  a  gay  young 
fellow,  whose  chief  occupation  in  life  was  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure ;  and  Helen,  a  lovely  young  girl,  not  long  home 
from  boarding-school. 

Treated  in  all  respects  as  an  equal,  he  found  the  home 
circle  at  Mr.  Thornly's  peculiarly  agreeable,  and  in  return 
for  these  benefits,  rendered  at  all  times  most  faithful 
service  to  his  generous  employer." 

Roland  often  felt  concerned  for  the  petted  son  of  Mr. 
.Thornly ;  for  furnished  constantly  with  a  full  purse,  he  had 
ample  opportunity  of  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  gay 
world,  and  was  becoming  very  rapidly  one  of  the  fast  young 
x  men  of  New  York.  It  was  true  that  he  had  a  desk  at  his 
father's  office,  but  it  was  seldom  occupied  for  any  length 
of  time  by  the  young  man  ;  for  late  hours  at  night  made 
corresponding  hours  in  the  morning  ;  and,  in  the  afternoon, 
a  drive  with  a  fast  horse  generally  closed  the  day. 

Mr.  Thornly  occasionally  remonstrated. 

"Just  wait  a  little,  father;  you  know  that  I  have  been 
phut  up  so  long  at  college,  that  it  seems  hard  to  go  to  work 
as  soon  us  I  come  home.  I  will  be  a  smart  lawyer  yet." 

"Brother,"  said  Helen,  "whom  do  you  think  I  met  to 
day  in  Broadway?  my  old  school-friend,  Madeline  Hainil- 
17* 


10S  WOODCLIFF. 

ton ;  she  is  in  New  York,  spending  the  Christmas  vacation 
with  Mary  Trevor." 

"Won't  you  invite  her  here,  sister?  I  feel  quite  anxious 
to  see  your  '  queen  of  beauty.' '' 

"  You  need  not  try  to  captivate  Madeline  ;  she  is  as  proud 
as  Juno,  and  so  far,  quite  indifferent  to  beaux." 

"  She'll  have  plenty  of  admirers,  sis,  when  she  bursts 
upon  the  world  with  all  her  wealth  and  beauty." 

Roland  heard  the  announcement  of  her  presence  in  New 
York  with  mingled  feelings— she  was  a  young  lady  now , 
how  would  she  meet  the  old  friend  of  his  childish  days  ? 

"Roland,  are  you  fond  of  music?"  asked  joungThornly. 

"  Extravagantly,  but  I  have  never  heard  any  of  the  cele 
brated  singers." 

"  We  are  going  to  the  opera  to-night ;  will  you  accom 
pany  us?" 

Roland  was  a  novice  in  the  world  of  New  York,  and 
thinking  only  of  the.  music,  he  consented,  and  accompanied 
the  party. 

Bewildered  at  first  with  the  delicious  music,  he  scarcely 
thought  of  the  adjuncts ;  but  the  uncovered  forms,  the  free 
dom  of  the  actresses,  the  sentiments  of  the  opera  translated 
into  English,  shocked  his  sense  of  delicacy ;  and  when  he 
looked  around  at  the  crowds  of  fair  young  faces,  looking 
and  listening  without  a  blush  to  much  that  was  enacting 
before  them,  he  felt  convinced  that  this  was  no  place  for  a 
Christian  youth,  and  resolved  accordingly. 

Near  them,  was  seated  a  party  of  young  persons  deeply 
interested  in  the  performance.  One  especially  attracted 
hhii — the  deep  blue  eyes,  the  profusion  of  soft  brown  hair, 
the  sweet  expressive  mouth,  were  certainly  like  those  of  his 
little  friend;  but  in  the  tall,  graceful  girl  before  him,  he 
scarcely  could  believe  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  when  the 
silvery  voice  revealed  fully  Madeline  Hamilton. 

He  had  not  seen  her  for  four  years,  and  the  sparkling, 


STRIFE.  199 

bewitching   child    had    merged   into   the   lovely,   blushing 
maiden  of  sixteen. 

During  one  of  the  recesses  between  the  acts  she  arose, 
and  stood  facing  the  party  near  her. 

Roland  caught  her  eye ;  she  looked  earnestly,  then 
smiled,  and,  with  a  bow  of  high-bred  courtesy,  recognized 
her  old  friend. 

Roland  felt  that  Madeline  was  no  longer  a  child ;  he  re 
turned  her  bow  with  equal  politeness. 

Next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Helen  discussed  with  her 
father  all  her  arrangements  for  an  evening  party  the  follow 
ing  week. 

Roland  made  one  of  the  company,  and  watched  anxiously 
for  each  arrival,  expecting  every  minute  to  see  the  friend 
of  his  childhood. 

A  ringing  silvery  laugh,  as  tripping  feet  passed  up  the 
staircase  to  deposit  her  wrappings,  announced  the  presence 
of  Madeline,  the  little  Mad-cap  of  the  sea-shore. 

She  entered — a  simple  girlish  dress  became  the  young 
maiden ;  for  she  remembered  that  she  was  yet  a  school 
girl- 
She  bowed  gracefully  when  introduced  to  the  company — 
a  bright  blush  and  a  smile  acknowledged  the  acquaintance 
of  Roland  Bruce. 

He  advanced  —  "  How  are  you,  Miss  Madeline  ?  It  has 
been  a  long  time  since  I  saw  you.  When  did  you  arrive 
in  New  York  ?" 

A  casting  down  of  the  eyes,  and  the  slightest  quiver  of 
a  mischievous  smile,  crossed  the  bright  young  face. 

"  Last  week,  Mr.  Bruce.  I  am  spending  my  vacation 
with  my  friend,  Miss  Trevor." 

"  When  do  you  expect  to  return  ?" 

"  In  about  ten  days.  One  more  year  will  complete  my 
school-life." 

"  Then  for  the  gay  world,  I  suppose,  Miss  Madeline  ;" 
and  Roland  smiled  somewhat  sadlv. 


200  WOODCLIFF. 

"Yes,  that  is  our  intention.  We  shall  spend  my  first 
winter  in  New  York." 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  the  lessons  at  Woodcliff,  I  trust, 
Miss  Madeline  ?" 

Madeline  turned  her  face  away,  and  bending  her  eyes 
upon  the  ground,  said, 

•    "  I  must  speak  the  truth  ;  I  fear,  that  those  lessons  have 
lost  much  of  their  power." 

"Are  you  happy  now  as  then,  Miss  Madeline  ?" 

"  Not  when  I  stop  to  think ;  but  I  have  not  much  time 
for  that." 

Listening  seriously  to  Roland's  earnest  words,  with  eyes 
bent,  and  hands  folded  reverently  as  of  yore,  the  Roland 
and  Madeline  of  Maple  Lane  School  stood  once  more  re 
vealed. 

"'Madeline,  the  piano  is  waiting  for  you,"  said  Helen ; 
and  leading  her  young  friend  to  the  instrument,  she  inter 
rupted  the  conversation. 

Dashing  off  into  one  of  the  most  beautiful  x>f  the  many 
variations  of  fine  old  pieces,  she  ran  through  several  bril 
liant  compositions,  until  at  the  close  of  "Auld  Lang  Syne," 
she  accompanied  it  with  her  charming  voice,  in  all  the  melt 
ing  tenderness  of  former  days. 

Roland  was  inexpressibly  touched. 

"  She  has  not  quite  forgotten  those  early  days,"  thought 
the  youth.  ******* 

Edgar  Thornly  gave  his  father  much  uneasiness,  for  his 
indolence  increased,  his  nightly  dissipations  became  more 
reckless — moreover,  he  seemed  gloomy  and  abstracted. 

One  day,  a  gentleman  called  to  pay  Mr.  Thornly  a  fee 
of  two  hundred  dollars.  He  placed  it  in  his  desk,  and 
put  the  tey  in  his  pocket.  Roland  and  Edgar  were  both 
present.  It  was  the  duty  of  the  former  to  lock  the  office 
every  evening;  but  on  this  occasion  Edgar  tarried. 

"  Is  it  not  time  to  lock  the  office  ?"  said  Roland. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  answer ;  but  still  he  lingered. 


STRIFE.  '201 

At  last  Roland  said, 

"I  have  an  engagement,  Edgar,  and  must  lock  up." 

"Can't  I  do  it,   Roland?'' 

"No,  Edgar,  your  father  directed  me  to  see  it  locked 
always  before  I  leave." 

"You  are  mighty  particular,  Roland;''  and,  taking  his. 
hat,  Edgar  left  the  room. 

Just  before  Roland  closed  the  office  finally,  James,  the 
waiter,  entered  the  room  to  replenish  the  fire. 

"  Be  quick,  James,  I  have  an  engagement." 

The  man  soon  finished  his  work,  and  left  the  room. 
Roland  locked  the  door,  and  took  his  departure,  placing 
the  key  in  his  pocket. 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Thornly  wanted  the  money ;  on 
opening  the  desk,  the  lock  was  picked,  and  the  money  gone 
— who  could  have  taken  it  ? 

The  waiter  was  called,  and  inquiries  made  of  him. 

"The  last  one  I  saw  there  was  Mr.  Bruce,"  said  the 
man  ;  "  nobody  has  been  there  since." 

Edgar  testified- the  same. 

"  I  saw  it  just  before  I  left  the  room,"  said  Roland.  "  I 
saw  you  put  the  money  in  the  drawer,  Mr.  Thornly ;  I  was 
the  last  person  in  the  office ;  I  locked  the  door  and  put  the 
key  in  my  pocket ;  when  I  looked  for  the  key  this  morning 
it  was  gone,  and  when  I  went  down  to  the  office,  it  was 
already  open.'' 

"I  was  up  first  this  morning,"  said  the  cook;  "I  was 
in  the  cellar  under  the  office,  I  heard  some  one  moving 
about  in  stocking  feet ;  I  thought  it  was  very  early,  but  I 
suppos'ed  it  was  Mr.  Bruce,  and  did  not  go  to  see  who  was 
there," 

Roland  could  have  told  that  he  saw  one  of  Edgar's  em 
broidered  slippers  close  by  the  office  door,  and  that  when 
ha  entered,  the  gas  was  left  burning,  and  a  knife,  which  he 
had  often  seen  Edgar  use,  lying  under  the  table. 

Roland  felt  the  perplexity  of  his  situation;  he  knew  that 


202  WOODCLIFF. 

suspicion  pointed  towards  him,  but  he  could  not  clear  him 
self  without  involving  his  employer's  son. 

Just  as  he  felt  himself  so  happily,  so  usefully  employed, 
it  was  a  hard  thing  to  be  cast  again  upon  the  world,  and 
under  such  circumstances. 

The  breakfast  was  eaten  in  silence ;  the  business  of  the 
day  pursued  in  the  same  formal  manner.  Edgar  avoided 
being  alone  with  Roland,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole 
house  was  stifling. 

Before  closing  the  office,  Roland  begged  for  a  few  minutes 
conversation  with  Mr.  Thornly. 

"  I  feel  the  terrible  suspicion  which  rests  upon  me,  Mr. 
Thornly ;  I  cannot  stay  here,  a  suspected  man ;  painful  as 
the  task  is,  I  must  go." 

"  It  is  doubtless  so ;  but,  Mr.  Bruce,  I  have  placed  un 
limited  confidence  in  you,  sir;  I  know  not  what  to  think." 

"  Your  confidence  has  never  been  abused,  sir;  the  day 
will  come  when  my  innocence  shall  be  established ;  in  the 
meanwhile,  I  can  wait." 

"  What  will  you  do,  sir,  without  a  reference  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  but  you  will  not  make  the  affair 
public  ?  let  me  beg  of  you  for  many  reasons  not  to  do 
so." 

"  I  promise  you  not  to  do  so ;  but  do  not  send  any  one 
to  me  until  the  affair  is  cleared  up,  I  cannot  recommend 
you;  it  is  all  a  mystery." 

"  You  are  not  going,  Roland  ?"  said  Helen  Thornly ;  "  I 
can't  bear  to  see  you  so  insulted,  so  wronged.'' 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Helen;  but  you  must  see  that  circum 
stances  around  me  are  very  dark  —  I  can  only  declare  my 
innocence,  and  leave  it  all  for  Providence  to  proclaim  my 
honor." 

"My  father  will  be  the  loser,  Roland;  I  have  my  own 
thoughts,  and  I  will  never  rest  until  I  find  out  the  truth." 

"  It  has  been  a  pleasant  home,  Miss  Helen,  but  I  must 
leave  it;  my  dear  mother  left  me  a  precious  motto^on  her 


STRIFE.  203 

death-bed,  'Looking  aloft.'  It  has  comforted  me  in  many 
a  weary  hour;  it  is  my  refuge  now." 

"  Packing  up  his  clothes  immediately,  he  took  a  respect 
ful  leave  of  all,  thanking  Mr.  Thornly  for  all  his  kindness. 

"It  will  be  right  some  day,  Mr.  'Thornly;  I  can  trust 
and  wait,"  were  Roland's  last  words. 

Out  again  upon  the  cold  world,  Roland  deposited  his 
clothes  with  his  friend  Richard  Green,  and,  weary  and  sad, 
walked  down  to  the  Battery. 

He  had  not  paced  the  bank  long,  when  Madeline,  in 
company  with  several  gay  young  friends,  passed  by  ;  her 
careless,  joyous  laugh  jarred  upon  his  lacerated  feelings, 
and  her  ceremonious  salutation  completed  the  depression 
of  that  weary  day. 

Could  she  have  known  the  sorrow  of  that  noble  heart, 
would  she  have  passed  so  coldly  ? 

No — although  the  poison  of  a  letter  received  that  day, 
from  Lavinia  Raymond,  rankled  in  her  proud  young  heart. 

Roland  paced  the  bank  until  midnight — midnight  around, 
and  midnight  within  the  tried  young  spirit ;  for  faith  could 
not  grasp  the  promises  at  once,  in  that  hour  of  anguish 


CHAPTER    XYI. 

RUGGED   HILLS    FOR    WEARY    FEET. 

HOMELESS  once  more,  Roland  sought  an  humble  refuge 
in  the  house  of  his  friend,  the  good  police  officer.  Aware 
of  the  difficulties  which  would  beset  his  path,  he  shrank 
from  encounters  with  the  rough  world ;  for  what  could  one 
expect  who  had  left  an  office  like  Mr.  Thornly's  suddenly, 
and  could  bring  no  reference  ? 

He  made  the  effort  day  after  day,  and  although  there 
was  so  much  in  his  whole  bearing  that  was  prepossessing, 
none  were  willing  to  run  the  risk.  Never  had  his  prospects 
appeared  so  discouraging,  and  never  bad  he  greater  need 
of  all  the  support  of  the  sweet  talismanic  words  which  had 
guided  and  strengthened  him  so  long. 

Devoting  more  time  to  his  pen,  his  contributions  to  the 
press  were  more  frequent,  and  this  resource  was  just  now 
invaluable,  as  it  really  did  provide  his  daily  food. 

In  these  days  of  darkness,  Roland  never  passed  the  poor 
news  boys,  or  any  who  earned  a  precarious  living  in  the 
streets,  without  feelings  of  warmer,  deeper  interest.  Some 
times  he  would  stop  to  look  at  some  little,  tired  wanderer, 
ragged,  pale,  friendless,  sleeping  perhaps  in  a  packing-box, 
in  the  market  stalls,  or  wherever  he  could  find  shelter  from 
the  weather,  and  he  would  often  ask  himself, 

"  Can  I  do  nothing  for  these  poor,  homeless  children  ?" 

He  weighed  the  matter  seriously,  and  turned  attention 
to  the  subject,  in  the  articles  which  he  contributed  to  the 
daily  press. 

Writing  from  a  full  heart,  that  had  passed  through  these 
(204) 


RUGGED    HILLS    FOR    WEARY    FEET.  205 

sorrows  himself,  his  words  were  eloquent ;  and  on  making 
an  appeal  to  any  who  would  be  willing  to  aid  in  procuring 
home  and  shelter  for  these  poor  outcasts,  to  meet  him  at 
his  humble  lodgings,  he  waited  anxiously  for  some  re 
sponse. 

A  week  passed.  At  length  a  thoughtful-looking  man, 
with  very  plain  garb,  sought  him  at  the  place  appointed. 

"I  have  been  interested  in  your  articles,  young  man;  I 
came  to  ask  what  would  you  propose  ?" 

"I  scarcely  know,  sir;  but  the  misery  and  exposure  of 
this  class  haunt  me  daily,  nightly.  I  have  been  told  that 
there  are  three  thousand.  In  a  great  city  like  this,  there 
should  be  a  home  for  such." 

"  Are  you  aware  that  much  money  would  be  needed  to 
provide  one  ?" 

"  I  know  that,  sir ;  but  if  it  is  the  Lord's  directing,  He 
will  provide  the  money,  if  we  will  only  use  the  means." 

"  Have  you  time«at  your  disposal  ?" 

"I  have  a  great  deal  just  now,  and  will  do  any  thing  that 
you  propose." 

"  First,  tell  me  your  name." 

"  It  is  Roland  Bruce  ;  I  can  show  you  a  letter  from  the 
President  of  the  college  where  I  graduated."  And  trust 
ing  the  plain,  honest,  benevolent  face,  he  told  his  story  to 
the  good  man,  not  even  reserving  the  trial  at  Mr.  Thornly's. 

Mark  Grafton  was  a  keen  physiognomist,  and  an  eccen 
tric  man ;  he  smiled  when  he  read  the  letter,  for  he  had 
fully  made  up  his  mind  before  to  trust  the  open  counte 
nance,  and  fine  clear  eye  of  Roland  Bruce. 

"  What  I  propose  is  this :  I  will  give  you  a  list  of  names 
of  influential  men,  who  I  know  will  give  their  aid  in  a 
cause  like  this ;  you  will  call  on  them  in  my  name,  and 
report  progress  to  me  every  evening." 

Roland    was    delighted ;    here    was    an    opportunity   to 
occupy  his  time  with  useful  employment,  to  benefit  a  class 
for  whom  his  heart  had  often  bled. 
18 


206  \YOODCLIFF. 

He  commenced  his  work  with  a  sanguine,  hopeful  heart. 
"  Looking  aloft,"  for  God's  especial  blessing,  he  set  out 
with  a  bright,  Animated  countenance,  and  a  brisk,  elastic 
step. 

Praying  daily  for  guidance,  and  leaving  the  cause  of  his 
acquittal  in  the  hands  of  the  just  and  wise,  and  gracious 
Disposer  of  human  events,  he  was  willing  to  leave  the  time 
in  God's  own  hands  ;  the  event  he  knew  was  sure. 

He  was  generally  successful  —  many  contributed  largely 
of  their  means,  for  he  found  that  the  name  of  Mark  Grafton 
was  everywhere  a  sufficient  recommendation.  A  few  pre 
sented  a  cold  shoulder,  but  he  had  every  reason  to  be  grate 
ful,  when  at  the  end  of  a  week,  he  numbered  on  his  list 
some  two  hundred  subscribers.  Mr.  Grafton  was  more 
than  gratified,  he  was  sanguine  as  to  the  result.  As  soon 
as  five  hundred  subscribers  were  obtained,  they  would  com 
mence  operations. 

A  house  was  rented,  provided  with  plain  comforts  which 
to  houseless  wanderers  would  appear  like  luxuries ;  a 
matron  placed  at  the  head,  and  then  came  the  work  of 
gathering  the  outcasts. 

An  advertisement  was  placed  in  the  daily  papers,  and 
several  placards  on  the  corners  of  the  streets. 

"  If  boys  who  clean  crossings,  or  sell  matches  and  news 
papers,  will  meet  this  evening  at  No.  42  M street,  they 

will  find  something  to  their  advantage." 

Mr.  Grafton  and  Roland  waited  anxiously — about  half  a 
dozen  came ;  accustomed  so  long  to  a  roving  life  of  free 
dom,  many  thought  that  the  advertisement  pointed  to  some 
thing  which  might  restrain  their  liberty,  and  therefore 
looked  suspiciously  at  the  notice. 

Mr.  Grafton  explained  his  plans  to  the  boys.  Each  one 
connected  with  the  home,  must  contribute  one  dollar  per 
week  of  his  earnings,  which  would  be  put  by  in  a  fund  for 
his  own  especial  benefit,  when  he  should  reach  mature 
years.  So  vicious  themselves,  they  were  slow  to  believe 


RUGGED    HILLS    FOR    WEARY    FEET.  207 

in  the  truth  or  honesty  of  their  fellows,  and  not  one  at 
first  could  be  found  to  agree  to  the  plan  proposed. 

"  I  give  you  a  week  to  think  about  it,  boys — you  can  stay 
here  all  the  time,  and  weigh  the  difference  between  a  com 
fortable  home,  where  you  will  be  provided  with  good 
reading,  careful  instruction,  pleasant  recreations,  and  the 
power  of  laying  by  some  of  your  money ;  compare  this 
with  a  roving  life  among  vicious  boys,  who  often  rob  you, 
and  who  are  leading  you  away  farther  and  farther  from 
ways  of  peace  and  respectability,  until  at  last,  you  may 
end  your  days  in  a  prison,  and  spend  eternity  with  the  lost 
and  degraded ;  if  you  cannot  come  into  all  our  arrange 
ments  at  the  close  of  this  week,  you  must  depart,  and  we 
offer  the  same  to  others." 

The  boys  listened  carefully,  but  doubtingly.  Roland 
spent  as  much  of  his  time  with  them  as  he  could  spare 
from  his  daily  duties  connected  with  the  Home,  and  with 
his  pen. 

Generally  in  the  evening,  he  came  and  talked  with  them 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  listening  to  their  accounts  of  the 
day's  labors,  and  reading  to  them  some  interesting  matter. 
He  was  taking  care  of  his  Master's  cause  among  these  poor 
forsaken  children,  and  God  was  taking  care  of  his.  Did  he 
doubt  it  ?  No — not  for  one  moment. 

Time  sped  on ;  by  degrees,  the  number  of  boys  increased  ; 
they  were  gaining  confidence  in  their  kind  friends. 

Roland  took  up  his  abode  among  these  waifs  of  humanity. 
Many  trials  beset  his  path,  many  discouragements ;  for  the 
deep  depravity  of  a  whole  life,  short  though  it  might  have 
bOen  of  these  juvenile  transgressors,  was  not  to  be  rooted 
out  in  a  day,  a  week,  or  even  a  year. 

Habit  was  a  strong  giant  that  required  the  strong  anta 
gonism  of  stalwart  efforts ;  and  blow  after  blow  must  be 
levelled  against  the  monster  in  the  strength  of  Gospel  war 
fare,  ere  he  would  show  signs  of  yielding  to  the  attacks. 

But  Roland's  manliness  and  benevolence  were  really  un- 


208  WOODCLIFF. 

dermining  the  citadel  of  sin,  and  in  a  few  months  he  began 
to  see  the  fruit  of  their  labors. 

About  fifty  boys  were  now  inmates  of  the  Home ;  they 
were  cleanly,  interested  in  their  mental  improvement,  regu 
lar  in  their  attendance  upon  Gospel  ministrations  every 
Sunday ;  and  although,  now  and  then,  their  hopes  were 
disappointed  by  the  absconding  of  several,  still  their  pro 
gress  was  onward. 

Let  us  turn  for  one  moment  to  Mr.  Thornly.  From  the 
day  that  Roland  left  the  office,  "Edgar's  spirits  drooped. 
Helen  watched  him  closely ;  her  room  was  adjoining  his ; 
and  often,  late  in  the  night,  she  could  hear  him  pacing  his 
room,  and  groaning,  as  if  in  great  distress  of  mind. 

Once  she  opened  the  door — Edgar  was  tossing  about,  and 
talking  in  his  sleep. 

"  Go  away,  Jones,"  muttered  the  youth,  "  I  can't  get  the 
money  ;  two  hundred  dollars !  two  hundred  dollars !" 

Helen's  heart  sank  within  her.  She  had  sore  misgivings 
about  her  brother,  but  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Could  she  ac 
cuse  him  without  farther  proof?  Could  she  bear  to  see 
Roland  suffering  so  wrongfully  ? 

Still  her  brother  continued  his  late  hours ;  seldom  in  be 
fore  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Every  few  days,  a  man  would  call  to  see  him  ;  and  Edgar 
always  appeared  gloomy  and  distressed  after  these  visits. 

Several  times  he  was  out;  and  when  Helen  asked  the 
name  of  the  person  who  called  so  frequently,  she  found  to 
her  grief  that  it  was  Jones. 

At  last,  he  asked  to  see  Mr.  Thornly ;  then  came  the 
dreadful  disclosure.  Edgar  had  been  gambling  to  a  large 
amount,  and  was  indebted  to  this  man  several  thousand 
dollars. 

Mr.  Thornly  was  horror-struck ;  Edgar  bowed  down  to 
the  dust  in  shame ;  Helen  overpowered  with  grief. 

''  It  has  come  at  last,  brother.     I  knew  that  some  dread- 


BUGGED    HILLS   FOR    WEARY    FEET.  209 

ful  grief  was  approaching — but  is  there  not  something 
worse  than  all,  that  is  not  yet  revealed?" 

Edgar  turned  his  blood-shot  eyes  upon  his  sister. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Helen  ?  Do  you  mean  to  crush 
me  entirely  ?" 

"  Xo,  Edgar,  I  do  not ;  but  I  want  you  to  commence  anew 
. — give  up  all  your  bad  associates — do  justice  to  one  that 
you  have  wronged." 

Edgar  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands. 

"  I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  Helen ;  I  am  too  wretched !" 

"  Edgar,  can  you  not  tell  me  something  about  the  two 
hundred  dollars  that  sent  poor  Roland  away?" 

Edgar  was  silent ;  he  groaned  bitterly ;  and  striking  his 
head  with  anguish,  he  paced  the  floor  in  agony: 

"  I  can  endure  this  no  longer,  Helen  ;  I  took  that  money ; 
I  was  threatened  by  Jones  with  exposure,  and  I  took  it ; 
how  it  has  burned  me  ever  since !" 

"Shall  I  tell  our  father,  Edgar?  it  is  better  for  all  to 
come  out." 

"  Do  what  you  please,  Helen  ;  I  must  have  relief." 

Helen  had  a  hard  task  to  perform,  but  she  was  a  true 
sister,  and  saw  no  other  path  by  which  Edgar  could  retrace 
his  steps. 

Mr.  Thornly  was  almost  paralyzed  —  but  reproach  was 
not  to  be  used  towards  a  spirit  so  crushed  as  Edgar's ;  he 
was  suffering  enough  of  agony. 

His  had  been  the  error  of  a  weak  and  yielding  nature, 
furnished  too  abundantly  the  means  of  indulgence,  rather 
than  the  deep  duplicity  of  an  accomplished  villain. 

"  Justice  must  be  done  to  Roland,"  was  the  first  response 
of  Mr.  Thornly. 

On  the  next  morning,  Roland's  eye  caught  the  following 

notice :  "  If  Roland  G.  B ,  will  call  at  the  office  of  Mr. 

Thornly,  he  will  hear  something  important." 

"The  day  of  deliverance,"  thought  Roland;  and,  taking 
18* 


210  WOODCLIFF. 

his  hat,  with  a  joyful  step  and  overflowing  heart,  he  made 
his  way  to  Mr.  Thornly's  office. 

His  former  employer  was  seated  at  his  desk. 

"  I  have  proofs  of  your  innocence,  Roland,  and  I  have 
sent  for  you  to  do. you  justice  ;"  then,  with  a  sadly  grieved 
and  humbled  spirit,  the  father  recounted  the  story  in  as 
few  words  as  possible. 

"  I  knew  that  my  innocence  would  be  proved,"  answered 
the  youth,  "  and  I  left  my  cause  with  God." 

"  Had  you  any  idea  of  the  truth  at  that  time,  Ro 
land  ?" 

"  I  had,  sir ;  I  saw  Edgar's  slipper  near  the  door,  and 
found  his  knife  under  the  table,  with  which  he  had  picked 
the  lock.  1  saw  his  depression  for  days  before,  and  I  sup 
posed  that  some  debt  was  pressing  heavily  upon  him, 
which  he  could  not  discharge.'' 

"  And  you  bore  all  this  quietly,  gave  up  a  promising 
situation,  left  a  comfortable  home,  and  went  out  upon  the 
world  friendless,  homeless,  without  a  character,  rather 
than  expose  my  son,  or  pain  his  father's  heart.  Truly,  yours 
is  conduct  not  often  met  with  in  this  cold  and  selfish 
world." 

"  It  was  my  duty,  sir ;  I  could  do  nothing  else ;  there 
were  only  suspicious  circumstances,  not  actual  proof." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  in  the  meanwhile  ?" 

"  I  could  obtain  no  employment  among  lawyers,  I  have 
therefore  been  writing  for  the  press ;  and  been  busy  in 
establishing  a  home  for  friendless  boys,  like  myself" 

"  Do  you  mean  the  one  in  which  Mark  Grafton  is  inter 
ested  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir ;  it  has  been  a  great  blessing  to  me,  for  instead 
of  dwelling  upon  my  own  griefs,  I  have  been  trying  to 
lighten  those  of  others,  more  oppressed  than  myself." 

Mr.  Thornly  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  was  a  worldly 
man,  but  this  exhibition  of  Christian  principle  stirred  up 
the  fountains  of  his  heart.  Extending  his  hand,  he  said, 


RUGGED    HILLS    FOR    WEARY    FEET.  211 

'•'  Roland,  can  I  ask  you  to  come  back  again,  after  all 
that  has  passed  ?  It  would  be  to  me  a  personal  favor." 

"I  am  but  too  happy,  sir,  to  take  my  old  desk  ;  I  believe 
that  the  finger  of  Providence  has  pointed  me  here,  and  I 
trust  that  we  shall  be  mutual  blessings  to  each  other." 

"  Will  you  forgive  my  poor  son,  Roland?  he  is  humbled 
to  the  dust." 

"Forgive!  certainly,  sir;  nothing  is  more  easy,  nothing 
more  delightful." 

"  Will  you  do  more  ?  I  believe  that  this  deep  disgrace 
will  be  the  turning  point  of  a  new  life  with  Edgar,  if  we 
only  encourage  him ;  will  you  be  his  friend,  Roland  ?" 
said  Mr.  Thornly,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  young  man's 
shoulder,  and  looking  in  his  face  with  a  father's  pleading 
eyes. 

"  You  may  trust  me,  sir,"  was  the  frank,  noble  answer. 

Next  morning,  Roland  took  his  place  in  the  office  once 
more. 

His  meeting  with  Edgar  was  most  painful. 

"Say  nothing,  Edgar,"  was  Roland's  first  salutation, 
when  the  young  man  sat  down,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"  I  know  alL —  words  are  unnecessary  ;  all  is  forgiven, 
entirely  buried  between  us;  henceforth  I  am  your  friend.'' 

"  Oh  !  Roland  Bruce,  language  cannot  tell  what  a  cordial 
those  few  words  are  to  me.  I  feel  so  desponding,  so 
crushed ;  I  have  no  companions,  I  go  nowhere." 

"  That  is  better  just  now,  Edgar;  but  after  a  little  while, 
you  will  come  and  read  law  with  me." 

Edgar  spent  all  his  time  in  the  office.  Roland  provided 
him,  at  first,  with  pleasant  reading;  then,  by  degrees,  he 
proposed  the  course  which  he  had  pursued  himself.  Edgar 
was  but  too  willing  to  be  guided  by  such  a  hand,  and  Mr. 
Thornly  and  Helen  looked  on  with  speechless  gratitude. 

Roland  was  still  interested  in  his  homeless  boys,  and 
paid  his  periodical  evening  visits.  It  was,  indeed,  a  com- 


212  WOODCLIFF. 

fort   to   see   what  a  marked  change  was  observed  in  so 
many. 

One  day,  he  was  greatly  surprised  on  perceiving  a  letter 
addressed  to  him  in  printed  characters.  On  opening  it, 
there  was  a  check  for  one  hundred  dollars,  for  the  "  Home," 
"from  one  deeply  interested."  Where  could  it  come  from  ? 
was  his  question.  Could  it  be  from  Madeline  ?  How 
would  she  know  about  his  actions  ?  Suddenly  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Helen  corresponded  with  her,  and  the  thought 
that  she  might  be  thus  a  fellow  laborer  with  him  was  very 
sweet,  and  he  encouraged  the  fancy. 

This  was,  indeed,  a  turning  point  in  Edgar  Thornly's 
life  —  from  this  time,  his  whole  course  was  changed,  and 
his  grateful  father  could  not  by  words  thank  his  young 
mentor ;  actions  proved  his  gratitude. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

At  the  close  of  the  second  year,  Roland  was  admitted  to 
the  bar.  Mr.  Thornly  threw  all  the  business  in  his  way 
that  could  be  thus  controlled,  and  Roland's  course  was  up 
ward  and  onward. 

Twice  had  he  visited  Effie  during  this  period,  found  her 
happy,  but  with  very  weak  eyes. 

Madeline  was  never  at  home  when  he  paid  his  visits; 
therefore,  she  seemed  to  him  almost  like  one  from  whose 
society  he  was  finally  shut  out. 

Practice  increased — his  sound  learning,  practical  common 
sense,  and  deep  investigation  into  the  science  of  law, 
opened  a  path  of  usefulness  and  honor.  It  could,  however, 
never  be  said  of  Roland  Bruce,  that  he  was  the  lawyer 
sought  out  by  low  criminals,  or  whose  influence  could  be 
purchased  to  legalize  crime ;  for,  though  heavy  fees  were 
offered  by  such,  knowingly,  he  would  not  stoop  to  practices 
so  degrading.  He  soon  obtained  the  name  of  "  the  honest 
lawyer,"  and  none  were  more  proud  of  his  rising  influence 
and  talents,  than  the  generous  man  who  had  afforded  him 
so  many  facilities  in  his  upward  course. 


HUGGED    HILLS    FOR    WEARY    FEET.  213 

"  That  is  an  important  case,  Roland,"  said  Mr.  Thornly, 
after  he  had  described  to  the  latter,  what  had  been  placed 
in  his  hands. 

The  man  had  been  charged  with  murder,  and  the  circum 
stances  by  which  he  was  surrounded  were  overwhelming 
in  their  proofs  against  him.  By  skillfully  managing  the 
case,  and  obtaining  delay,  proofs  establishing  his  innocence 
were  obtained  at  a  time  when  all  around  the  poor  man  was 
darkest.  The  accused  man  was  one  universally  esteemed ; 
the  joy  felt  at  his  acquittal  was  so  intense,  that,  throughout 
the  city,  the  press  complimented  the  young  lawyer  for  the 
ingenuity  with  which  he  had  conducted  the  trial. 

This  success  brought  him  into  public  notice,  and  restored 
to  the  arms  of  an  only  and  heart-broken  daughter,  the 
parent  whom  she  loved.  A  paper  containing  the  account 
was  sent  to  Effie,  and,  handing  it  to  Madeline,  who  was 
then  at  home,  the  sister's  heart  was  cheered  by  the 
warm  embrace  with  which  Maddy  congratulated  the  dear 
girl. 

"  Did  I  not  say,  Effie,  that  Roland  would  live  to  be  a 
great  man  yet?  Won't  we  be  happy  to  see  him  here 
among  the  Beltons  and  the  Smiths  ?  Effie,  do  you  know 
why  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  his  old  friend?"  (for  a 
minute  she  hesitated,  and  then  continued  with  an  averted 
face,)  "does  he  ever  mention  Helen  Thornly  in  his 
letters?" 

"  0  yes !  very  often,  Madeline ;  he  says  she  is  such  a 
lovely  girl,  he  wishes  that  I  knew  her ;  she  is  a  dear  friend 
of  his." 

"  So  I  have  beard,  Effie,"  and  Madeline  said  no  more ; 
but,  opening  the  piano,  she  played  several  of  her  old  pieces, 
but  especially  the  favorite  "Auld  Lang  Syne ;"  then, 
walking  out  to  the  garden,  she  plucked  a  rose  from  her 
favorite  bush,  and  proceeding  back  into  the  house,  and  up 
the  stair-case,  she  stopped  to  listen  to  the  strains  of  her 
Eolian  harp. 


214  WOODCLIFF. 

It  discoursed  sad  music  that  night,  or  was  it  the  echo  of 
her  own  spirit  ? 

"I  did  not  think  that  he  would  have  forgotten  me  so 
soon,''  murmured  Madeline  ;  "  but  so  it  is,  present  friends 
obliterate  the  memory  of  the  absent.  I  must  try  to 
forget  him ;  but  I  cannot  quite  forget  the  holy  teachings  of 
my  young  days,  nor  would  I  if  I  could — may  they  remain 
forever  1" 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

MIRAGE,  OR  MADELINE  AFTER  A  TRIUMPH. 

"  WELL,  daughter,  I  suppose  that  I  must  leave  my  re 
tirement,  for  this  winter  at  least,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton. 

"  So  you  promised,  papa ;  I  am  looking  forward  to  the 
season  with  great  expectations.  Mary  Trevor  is  impatient 
for  us  to  come  early,  she  has  so  much  in  store  for  me. 
There  are  Mrs.  Peyton,  and  Mrs.  Rossiter,  and  Mrs.  Starr, 
all  waiting  anxiously  for  us ;  they  give  sucb  elegant  parties, 
papa." 

Mr.  Hamilton  looked  with  an  expression  of  proud  exul 
tation  upon  his  beautiful  daughter,  and  anticipated  the  sen 
sation  that  the  advent  of  such  a  bright  star  would  make  in 
the  world  of  fashion. 

Madeline  was  full  of  eager  anticipation,  but  not  heart 
less  ;  she  really  regretted  the  parting  with  Effie,  and  the 
loneliness  which  she  knew  the  young  girl  would  suffer 
during  her  absence ;  for  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Aunt  Matilda 
would  both  accompany  the  young  heiress. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Effie,  to  leave  you ;  but  the  winter  will 
soon  pass ;  you  will  busy  yourself  with  looking  after  the 
house,  with  your  needle  and  your  books ;  and  write  often, 
dear." 

Effie  sighed,  as  she  almost  whispered, 

"  Madeline,  a  great  weight  is  on  my  heart ;  I  find  my 
eyes  daily  becoming  more  and  more  dim  ;  if  the  outer 
world  shovild  all  be  dark  to  me,  what  a  poor  useless  being 
I  should  be,  and  what  a  burden  to  my  friends  1" 

(215) 


216  WOODCLIPF. 

"Don't  imagine  such  an  affliction,  dear  Effie ;  Dr.  Jenks 
shall  attend  to  your  case  at  once ;  but  do  try  to  keep  up 
your  spirits.  I  have  often  thought,  Effie,  that  we  ought  to 
try  to  do  something  for  the  people  in  the  neighborhood ; 
there  are  several  families  that  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
help ;  I  will  appoint  you  my  almoner.  There  are  four  old 
persons  to  be  supplied  with  warm  garments  and  coal  for 
the  winter ;  and  three  or  four  invalids  that  need  weekly 
care.  Nanny  makes  gruel  or  other  comforts  for  Mary 
Swain  the  cripple,  and  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  know 
that  they  are  all  attended  to." 

Effie  brightened  at  the  prospect  of  such  work,  for  em 
ployment  like  this  was  the  element  of  her  nature. 

"  Take  good  care  of  my  flowers,  Effie,  especially  my  rose 
bush,  and  when  I  come  back,  let  me  see  some  roses  on 
your  pale  cheeks,  dear." 

"You  will  not  forget  me,  dear  friend,  that  I  know,"  said 
Effie,  folding  her  affectionately  in  her  arms,  and  press 
ing  a  loving  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  she  whispered,  "  do  not 
forget  the  Blessed  Saviour,  Madeline ;  you  will  be  surrounded 
by  a  thousand  temptations." 

A  tear  glistened  in  Madeline's  eye,  but  she  dashed  it 
aside,  and  said, 

"  Effie,  don't  be  distressed  about  me ;  some  of  these  days 
I  will  be  just  as  good  as  you  can  wish,  but  I  must  have  a 
peep  at  the  gay  world  first." 

"  Some  of  these  days,  Madeline ;  how  little  do  we  know 
about  the  days  appointed  us." 

The  day  of  departure  arrived;  the  trunks  were  all 
strapped ;  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Aunt  Matilda  seated  in  the 
carriage,  and  Madeline,  folding  her  humble  friend  in  her 
arms  once  more,  took  her  seat  by  her.  father. 

"  Farewell,  Effie,  be  bright  and  cheerful,  dear ;  we  shall 
soon  be  back  again." 

The  young  girl  stood  upon  the  piazza  as  long  as  she 
could  see  the  carriage,  and  turning  into  the  house  with  a 


MIRAGE,    OR    MADELINE    AFTER   A    TRIUMPH.        217 

sad  heart,  Effie    sought   and   found  the  comfort  that  she 
needed,  at  the  feet  of  her  own  dear  Saviour. 

Let  us  follow  Madeline  to  the  scene  of  her  introduction 
into  the  gay  world. 

Established  in  an  elegant  suite  of  rooms  in  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  hotels  in  New  York,  Madeline  and  her 
aunt  were  busily  occupied  in  giving  orders  for  her  winter 
outfit. 

This  was  Aunt  Matilda's  element,  and  neither  expense 
nor  pains  were  spared  on  the  wardrobe  of  the  young  lady. 

Soon  cards  from  the  upper  circles  of  the  great  metropolis 
multiplied  in  the  card  basket  of  our  young  novice. 

All  was  pleasure  and  excitement,  and  weeks  were  occu 
pied  in  returning  these  numerous  visits,  and  attending  to 
milliners,  dressmakers,  &c.  Madeline's  first  appearance 
for  the  season  was  at  the  ball  of  Mrs.  Rossiter,  one  of  the 
leaders  of  fashion  in  New  York. 

Attired  in  the  most  exquisite  taste,  for  the  first  time  her 
mother's  diamonds  adorned  her  person. 

When  she  entered  the  elegant  room,  leaning  upon  the 
arm  of  her  father,  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  her,  in 
whispers  of  admiration. 

As  she  passed,  "Beautiful!"  "exquisite!"  "charming!" 
greeted  her  everywhere. 

"  Let  us  be  seated,  papa,"  murmured  Madeline,  for  the 
public  gaze  was  oppressive. 

She  was  the  centre  of  attraction  the  whole  evening,  her 
hand  sought  for  in  every  dance ;  truly,  the  young  girl  was 
completely  bewildered  and  intoxicated. 

And  so,  night  after  night,  the  ovation  of  flattery  was 
laid  at  the  feet  of  Madeline  Hamilton. 

Harry  Castleton  was  among  the  most  devoted  of  her 
admirers ;  but  he  was  simply  tolerated,  for  Madeline  saw 
through   the   shallowness  of  his   pretensions,    and   really 
pitied  his  contemptible  folly. 
19 


218  WOODCLTFF. 

"  Well,  papa,  who  do  you  think  is  the  reigning  star  this 
winter  ?"  said  Helen  Thornly. 

"  I  do  not  know  much  about  the  gay  world  now,  daugh 
ter,  for  I  tired  of  it  long  ago ;  but  I  suppose  every  season 
has  its  own  particular  star,  that  shines  a  little  while,  to  be 
eclipsed  by  another." 

"  Madeline  Hamilton  is  the  theme  of  every  tongue ;  her 
beauty,  her  wealth,  her  accomplishments,  have  made  her 
all  the  ton  —  the  beaux  are  crazy  to  be  found  in  her  train, 
and  the  belles  are  dying  of  envy.'' 

"  Have  you  met  her  anywhere,  Helen  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa,  at  Mrs.  Trevor's  —  she  is  splendid  in  her 
point  lace  and  diamonds.    I 'wish  you  could  have  seen  her; 
and  yet  she  does  not  seem  vain.     She  always  was  an  art-, 
less,  impulsive  girl;  but  I  think  New  York  will  spoil  her 
simplicity." 

Roland  listened  to  the  remarks,  and  felt  a  deeper  sinking 
of  the  heart,  as  he  realized  the  ordeal  through  which  Made 
line  was  passing ;  but  still,  remembering  all  the  past,  and 
the  power  of  first  impressions,  he  could  look  upward,  and 
trust  that  she  would  yet  come  out  unscathed.  Her  world 
was  entirely  remote  from  his;  they  met  but  occasionally, 
and  that  in  the  street,  but  seldom  at  Mr.  Thornly's. 

The  opera,  balls,  parties  innumerable,  engrossed  her  time, 
but  was  she  happy? 

Let  us  follow  her  awhile  after  her  evening  triumph.  She 
had  spent  the  evening  at  Mrs.  Starr's,  one  of  the  gayest 
parties  of  the  season. 

Magnificent  dressing,  the  most  costly  viands  of  the  table, 
the  most  fashionable  band  of  music,  scores  of  admirers,  and 
strains  of  the  most  intoxicating  flattery  met  her  everywhere. 
Her  triumph  was  complete. 

Was  Madeline  happy?  To  have  looked  at  her  bright 
young  face  beaming  with  smiles,  to  have  listened  to  her 
musical  laugh,  and  sparkling  repartee,  to  have  watched  her 


MIRAGE,    OR    MADELINE    AFTER    A    TRIUMPH.          219 

light  and  airy  motions  in  the  graceful  waltz,  one  would 
have  pronounced  her  the  gayest  of  the  gay. 

But  there  was  a  depth  in  the  heart  of  Madeline  Hamilton 
which  could  not  be  filled  by  these  empty  vanities,  a  thirst 
for  a  better  life,  which  could  never  be  satisfied  with  this 
mere  mirage  in  the  pilgrimage  of  an  immortal. 

Wearied  and  heart-sick,  she  enters  her  dressing-room, 
and  seating  herself,  commences  disrobing. 

Unbinding  her  luxuriant  hair,  she  lays  aside  the  glitter 
ing  ornaments  and  the  faded  flowers ;  leaning  her  head 
upon  her  hands,  she  weeps  over  the  emptiness  of  her  daily 
life. 

Placing  heV  jewels  in  a  small  casket,  she  opens  a  little 
box  in  her  writing-desk;  reverently  she  turns  over  the 
leaves  of  an  old  book,  revealing  branches  of  withered  sea 
weed  ;  and  in  another  corner  of  the  desk,  a  cluster  of  com 
mon  shells.  The  sight  of  these  simple  things  opens  the 
flood-gates  of  her  heart ;  and,  pressing  the  sea-weed  to  her 
burning  lips,  she  weeps  in  the  anguish  of  her  spirit. 

Memory  is  busy — back  to  the  sea-shore,  the  Maple  Lane 
School,  the  cemetery,  the  little  cottage  of  the  humble 
widow. 

The  present  is  fading — she  had  had  a  distant  view  of  the 
glittering  world ;  she  had  longed  for  its  pleasures ;  nearer 
and  nearer  had  she  approached  the  shining  lake  where  she 
hoped  to  quench  her  thirst ;  but,  stooping  down  to  drink, 
she  had  found  the  world  like  the  mirage  in  the  burning 
sands  of  the  desert,  a  mere  illusion  !  a  mighty  cheat !  0  ! 
for  an  hour  of  those  early  days !  those  simple  childish  plea 
sures  !  0 !  for  the  teachings  of  that  young  Mentor,  who 
so  wisely  controlled  the  impetuosity  of  her  high  spirit,  and 
tamed  the  wilfulness  of  her  proud  young  heart. 

She  had  listened  to  the  tones  of  flattery,  until  they  had 
palled  upon  her  ear,  and  sickened  her  heart ;  and  for  one 
approving,  yea,  even  one  kind  reproving  glance  of  the  dark 


220  WOODCLI^P. 

eye  of  Roland  Bruce,  she  would  have  given  all,  and  more 
than  all  that  the  world  had  ever  given  her. 

She  recalls  the  holy  lessons  that  had  led  her  young  heart 
to  think  of  better  things. 

She  compares  Roland's  character  with  all  that  she  had 
met  in  the  gay  world,  and  feels  that  was  mere  tinsel ;  his 
was  pure  and  solid  gold. 

She  touches  the  simple  weeds  with  fond,  caressing  fingers, 
and  almost  resolves  to  turn  away  from  the  gay,  glittering 
throng. 

But  alas !  the  friend  of  her  youth  is  lost  to  her. 

She  believes  the  tale  that  Lavinia  has  so  often  told,  and 
almost  envied  Helen  Thornly  the  daily  companionship  of 
such  a  spirit  as  the  one  that  had  forgotten  her. 

"  But  I  may  cherish  these  dear  mementoes  yet,"  sighed 
Madeline ;  "  they  speak  of  such  holy,  blessed  things,  that 
even  the  sight  of  them  refreshes  me.'' 

Placing  them  reverently  in  her  desk,  she  commits  her 
self  to  God's  keeping,  and  retires  to  her  rest. 

The  world  was  fast  losing  its  hold  upon  Madeline ;  the 
power  of  early  teaching  was  returning. 

"  Papa,  shall  we  go  home  early  in  the  season  ?"  said 
Madeline  ;  "  I  long  for  Wood  cliff." 

"Just  as  soon  as  you  please,  daughter;  are  you  getting 
tired  of  the  gayeties  of  New  York  ?" 

"  I  am  sick  of  them,  papa ;  I  would  rather  spend  one 
month  at  Woodcliff  now,  where  I  could  ramble  by  the  old 
sea-shore,  sail  in  my  own  boat  on  the  clear  lake,  or  ride 
dear  old  Selhn  up  and  down  the  lanes,  as  I  used  to  when 
a  child." 

Her  father  smiled,  for  he  longed  for  the  elegant  retire 
ment  of  his  own  home  ;  but  Aunt  Matilda  remonstrated. 

"  Surely,  brother,  you  will  not  allow  Madeline  to  be  so 
foolish;  she  might,  at  least,  spend  the  whole  season  here." 

"  She  may  do  just  as  she  pleases,   Matilda,"  was  the 


MIRAGE,    OR    MADELINE    AFTER   A    TRIUMPH.        221 

answer ;  "  I  am  glad  that  she  retains  her  love  of  domestic 
life,  after  all  the  gayety  of  this  winter." 

Aunt  Matilda  sought  Mr.  Hamilton's  private  ear. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  not  listen  to  Madeline's  folly, 
brother,  after  going  to  so  much  expense  in  bringing  her 
out,  and  when  so  many  of  the  very  first  in  the  land  are 
ready  to  lay  their  fortunes  at  her  feet,  here  you  are  marring 
her  prospects  for  a  mere  whim." 

"  Really,  Matilda,  I  did  not  bring  Madeline  to  market,  I 
am  not  so  anxious  to  be  rid  of  my  daughter,  and  if  she  is 
more  happy  in  domestic  life  than  in  the  gay  world,  I  am 
only  too  glad  to  encourage  the  feeling.  She  has  seen  just 
what  the  world  is,  and  has  sense  enough  to  understand  its 
hollowness." 

******** 

Roland  is  rising  rapidly  in  his  profession,  still  interested 
in  his  "  Home  for  the  News-boys,"  and  esteemed  by  his  kind 
and  generous  patron. 

"Do  you  know,  papa,"  said  Helen,  one  day,  "that 
Madeline  is  going  home ;  here  in  the  very  midst  of  all  her 
triumphs,  she  is  longing  for  Woodcliff — so  she  says,  but  she 
always  was  a  strange  girl ;  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of 
her." 

Roland  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  pass  through  his  heart  at  this 
intelligence,  for  it  seemed  to  say  that  Madeline  was  not 
spoiled  by  the  gay  world.  How  he  longed  to  see  her,  and 
his  wish  was  speedily  gratified. 

A  carriage  stopped  at  Mr.  Thornly's  door,  which  he  re 
cognized  at  once  as  Mr.  Hamilton's  —  in  the  next  minute, 
Madeline  stepped  out,  and  sent  the  carriage  away.  It  was 
not  a  mere  call,  then,  and  he  hoped  to  see  her,  ere  she  left 
New  York. 

She  had  come  to  spend  a  social  evening  with  Helen,  and 
Roland  having  the  free  entrance  to  the  drawing-room  at  all 
times,  sought  his  young  friend. 
19* 


222  WOODCLIFF. 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  us,  Miss  Madeline,"  was  his 
first  salutation. 

"  Yes,  I  really  long  for  Woodcliff ;  a  peep  at  New  York 
life  has  been  sufficient." 

A  bright  smile  passed  over  Roland's  face.  "  I  was  afraid, 
or  rather  I  thought  that  you  might  have  been  intoxicated 
by  its  Battery." 

"It  is  very  empty,  Mr.  Bruce,  all  mirage  and  outside 
show ;  I  want  something  better  ;  point  lace  and  diamonds, 
with  glitter  and  show  without  sincerity,  will  not  satisfy 
one  that  once  longed  for  inward  peace." 

They  are  sitting  apart  from  the  rest,  who  were  engaged 
in  their  own  conversation. 

Roland  drew  near  to  Madeline,  and  in  a  low  tone,  he 
whispered, 

"  Madeline,  do  you  long  for  this  better  life  now  ?" 

She  blushed  deeply  at  the  old  familiar  name,  as  she 
replied, 

"Most  intensely,  Roland;  the  world  has  lost  its  "charms 
for  me." 

Just  then,  Helen  stepped  up,  and  interrupted  the  con 
versation. 

"  Will  you  not  persuade  Madeline  to  sing  ?"  said  the 
young  girl. 

"  If  you  will  favor  us  first,  Helen ;"  and  Roland  led 
her  to  the  piano,  and  stood  turning  over  the  leaves  for  her, 
while  she  sang. 

Was  it  the  tenderness  of  a  lover,  or  the  mere  interest  of 
a  friend  that  marked  his  manner  towards  Helen  ?  inquired 
Madeline  of  her  heart. 

There  was  something  in  the  glance  of  Helen  that  be 
trayed  nibre  than  a  common  interest.  But  what  meant 
Roland's  whispered  words  ?  old  affection  ?  or  mere  brotherly 
regard  for  one  whom  he  remembered  as  a  mere  wayward 
child  ?" 


MIRAGE,    OB    MADELINE    AFTER    A    TRIUMPH.        223 

After  Helen,  she  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  song 
after  song  was  called  for. 

With  all  the  simplicity  of  childish  days,  she  poured  forth 
those  strains  of  thrilling  melody,  once  heard,  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

Roland  shaded  his  eyes  to  hide  the  deep  emotion  which 
he  could  not  control,  when  she  warbled  forth,  "  Ye  banks 
and  braes  o'  Bonny  Boon,"  with  the  sweet  pathos  of  her 
touching  voice.  He  could  not  answer,  even  when  she 
turned,  and  with  the  innocence  of  early  days,  said,  in  a 
low  tone, 

"  That  was  your  mother's  favorite,  Mr.  Bruce." 

He  bowed,  but  could  not  reply. 

The  evening  passed ;  Madeline  spoke  her  farewells  to  the 
family. 

Roland  handed  her  to  the  carriage 

"  Remember  me  in  your  daily  prayers,  Roland." 

"  God  bless  you,  Madeline,  forever  and  ever ;  and  I  feel 
that  he  will  with  his  choicest  blessings." 

"  Helen  is  a  sweet  girl ;  I  hope  that  you  may  be  happy." 

The  carriage  drove  off — Roland  retired  to  muse  upon  the 
evening,  and  the  next  day,  Madeline  was  on  her  road  to 
Woodcliff. 

On  the  following  day.  a  note  was  delivered  to  Roland 
with  a  check  for  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  "  Home  for  the 
News-boys." 

Once  more  in  sight  of  Woodcliff,  Madeline's  heart  beat 
warmly  towards  every  object  around  her  dear  home. 

Effie  was  on  the  piazza  to  meet  her,  but  Madeline  was 
shocked  to  see  the  change  in  the  dear  girl. 

"  Oh  !  how  welcome  you  are,  Madeline  !  I  have  been  so 
lonely ;  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  poor  people  that  you  gave 
me  to  take  care  of,  I  should  have  been  dreary  enough ;  for 
Dr.  Jenks  will  not  allow  me  to  use  my  eyes  at  all." 

"I  am  so  glad  to  be  back  at  the  dear  old  home,  Effie." 


224  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Why,  you  did  not  stay  as  long  as  you  intended,  Made 
line." 

"No,  I  begged  papa  to  bring  me  home;  I  have  seen 
enough  of  New  York;  I  never  was  made  for  fashionable 
life,  Effie." 

"And  you  really  have  come  back  to  us,  Madeline,  per 
fectly  free,  notwithstanding  all  the  fortunes  that  have  been 
laid  at  your  feet." 

"  How  did  you  hear  all  this,  Effie  ? 

"  Miss  Matilda  used  to  write  us  such  descriptions  of  your 
numerous  conquests,  that  I  often  felt  as  if  we  had  lost  you 
altogether." 

"  You  need  never  be  afraid  of  such  empty-headed  fops 
as  I  have  seen,  Effie ;  I  scarcely  met  a  man  of  sense  while 
I  was  away." 

Madeline  felt  the  need  of  some  strong  guiding  hand  in 
her  present  state  of  feeling;  and,  after  she  had  been  at 
home  a  few  weeks,  begged  her  father  to  allow  her  to  visit 
Aunt  Clara  once  more. 

Mr.  Hamilton  felt  as  if  he  could  scarcely  spare  her. 

"  I  shall  not  stay  long,  papa  ;  I  do  so  want  to  see  my 
dear  aunt,  and  she  has  written  for  me  so  often." 

"  You  may  go,  Madeline,  if  you  will  promise  me  to  re 
turn  in  one  month ;  no  longer,  my  daughter ;  I  want  you 
near  me,  my  dear  child,  for  I  am  not  so  well  as  usual." 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  stay,  papa.'' 

"  No,  Madeline,  you  can  go  ;  if  I  need  you,  I  will  send 
for  you." 

On  the  evening  before  her  departure,  she  had  visited  the 
library,  and  turning  over  some  familiar  books,  she  came  at 
last  to  her  portfolio,  that  she  had  used  when  a  school-girl. 
Listlessly  looking  through  its  contents,  a  card  dropped  out, 
on  which  was  sketched  what  she  was  sure  was  a  picture  of 
herself,  as  she  appeared  on  the  evening  when  she  had  first 
met  Roland. 

It  was  a  spirited  little  picture ;  but  who  had  drawn  it  ? 


MIRAGE,    OR    MADELINE    AFTER    A    TRIUMPH.         225 

She  hurried  to  Effie,  and  holding  up  the  card,  said, 

"  Do  you  know  who  sketched  this  ?" 

'•I  think  it  must  have  been  Roland;  for  one  evening 
when  he  was  here,  he  was  a  long  time  in  the  library;  and 
I  know  that  he  draws  beautifully." 

Looking  on  the  back  of  the  card,  she  saw  the  initials 
R.  G.  B.,  and  soon  the  sweet  memento  was  placed  among 
Madeline's  treasures. 

Taking  Hector  as  her  companion,  she  sought  the  dearest 
spot  around  Woodcliff,  and  soon  seated  on  the  rock  near 
the  old  flag-staff,  memory  wandered  over  the  past. 

The  incident  in  the  library  had  touched  her  deeply ;  but 
then  that  was  simply  a  memory  of  childhood,  and  she  had 
doubtless  been  forgotten  since  that  time,  or  only  remem 
bered  as  an  old  friend ;  for  had  not  Lavinia  declared  more 
than  once  that  Roland  was  actually  betrothed  to  Helen 
Thornly ;  for  her  own  cousin  had  said  so. 

Ere  she  left  the  shore,  she  visited  old  Peter.  He  was 
living  yet,  and  hastened  to  meet  the  young  lady  whom  he 
had  so  often  seen  on  the  sea-shore. 

"  Well,  dear  me !  the  children  will  grow  to  be  men  and 
women,  it  seems ;  but  a  little  while  ago  since  you  and  Ro 
land  were  skipping  about  here  as  happy  children ;  now, 
you  are  a  young  lady,  and  Roland  such  a  fine-looking 
young  man!  The  last  time  he  was  down,  he  came  to  visit 
me  in  the  old  cabin  —  says  he,  '  Peter,  you  don't  care  for 
that  little  shoe  that  is  up  in  the  shelf?'" 

"  No,"  says  I,  "it  is  no  use  to  me,  but  I  kept  it  a  good 
while  because  the  little  girl  dropped  it  here,  and  she  was  a 
bright  child,  and  very  good  to  Uncle  Peter." 

"  Did  you  give  it  to  him  ?"  inquired  Madeline. 

"  Yes,  I  did,  and  he  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  and  took  it 
away — a  queer  fancy  for  a  young  man  to  be  hoarding  up 
old  shoes." 

"Did  he  ask  for  one  of  yours,  Uncle  Peter?"  inquired 
Madeline,  with  her  old  smile  of  mischief. 


226  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Bless  your  heart !  my  young  lady,  he  did  not  want  my 
old  shoes ;  for  he  only  wanted  that  one,  because  it  belonged 
to  the  little  foot  that  used  to  run  about  here  on  the  old 
beach.'' 

This  was  pleasant  talk,  and  she  wondered  if  Roland 
really  did  think  as  much  of  the  little  shoe  as  she  did  of  the 
faded  sea- weed  that  lay  hidden  in  the  desk. 

"I  suppose  that  he  did  then"  thought  she;  "but  that 
perhaps  was  before  he  knew  Helen  Thornly." 

"Are  you  comfortable,  Uncle  Peter?"  asked  the  young 
girl,  before  she  left  the  cabin. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Miss,  I  should  like  to  have  some  tobacco ; 
mine  is  about  gone,  and  it  is  hard  enough  to  get  it  some 
times." 

"  You  shall  have  some,  Uncle  Peter;"  and  the  next  day 
Madeline  sent  to  the  nearest  store  for  a  good  supply  for  the 
old  man. 

"  God  bless  her  bright  young  face !  she  always  had  a 
warm  heart,  but  a  quick,  high  temper.  I  wonder  how  it  is 
now;  she'll  come  all  right  by-and-bye." 

Madeline  wondered  for  several  days  what  Roland  had 
done  with  the  little  shoe ;  but  she  guessed  at  last  that  it 
thrown  away  before  this. 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

THE    EARLY   DAWN. 

''I  SHALL  not  leave  you  long,  dear  papa,"  was  Made 
line's  farewell ;  and  Aunt  Clara  was  but  too  happy  to  see 
her  dear  niece  once  more. 

"  I  have  heard  glowing  accounts  of  your  winter  in  New 
York,  Madeline ;  I  really  was  afraid  that  you  would  be 
wholly  intoxicated  by  its  temptations." 

"  I  was  for  awhile,  dear  aunt,  but  I  discovered  that  all 
was  mere  mirage ;  there  was  an  inner  life  that  was  wholly 
starved  in  that  heartless  round  of  folly." 

"  How  did  you  spend  your  time,  Madeline  ?" 

"  Tn  dressing,  shopping,  singing,  waltzing,  going  to  the 
opera,  making  and  receiving  calls,  in  hearing  frothy  talk, 
and  scandalous  remarks,  in  listening  to  the  flattery  of  a 
score  of  empty-headed  fops,  coming  home  tired  at  night, 
sleeping  late  next  morning,  and  longing  for  one  sight  of 
nature,  one  true  friend,  one  satisfying  portion.  Aunt  Clara, 
I  learned  to  loathe  the  empty  life,  and  I  have  come  to  you 
longing  for  something  better." 

Folding  her  niece  in  her  arms,  she  imprinted  a  warm  kiss 
on  the  fair  young  forehead,  and  said, 

"  There  are  fountains  of  living  water,  Madeline ;  these 
only  can  quench  the  burning  thirst  of  an  immortal  spirit.'' 

"  I  must  find  them,  dear  Aunt  Clara,  for  I  am  fainting 
for  thirst." 

Lucy  Edmonds  was  happy  again,  for  dearly  did  she  love 
the  warm-hearted  girl.  Madeline's  openness,  her  generous 

(227) 


228  WOODCLIFF. 

heart,  her  plain  bluntness,  her  perfect  transparency  of  cha 
racter,  charmed  her,  and  contrasted  with  Lavinia's  worldli- 
ness  and  vanity ;  it  was  really  refreshing  to  hear  her  sweet 
young  voice,  and  see  her  moving  about  again  in  her  aunt's 
household. 

This  was  an  important  era  in  the  life  of  Madeline  Hamil 
ton,  for  a  great  change  was  passing  silently  in  her  moral 
nature,  and  a  peep  into  her  journal  will  reveal  something 
of  her  inner  life. 

"  New  York.  At  length  I  have  seen  something  of  this 
bright  world,  of  which  I  have  heard  so  much.  Last  night 
was  my  first  appearance  at  Mrs.  Rossiter's  ball.  Dear 
papa  spared  no  expense  upon  my  dress ;  it  was  exquisite — 
white  silk  with  point  lace,  flowers,  and  my  mother's  dia 
monds.  I  suppose  that  it  was  a  beautiful  vision  that 
dawned  upon  the  world,  for  the  language  of  flattery  and 
admiration  met  me  on  every  side ;  and,  must  I  say  it  ?  I 
was,  for  awhile,  pleased  with  the  cup  offered  to  my  lips. 
Papa  was  gratified,  Aunt  Matilda  in  ecstasies,  and  I,  while 
in  the  midst  of  the  gay  scene,  was  enchanted  —  till  was  so 
new,  so  beautiful,  so  grand. 

"  Why  did  I  sigh  when  I  entered  my  dressing-room,  and 
shut  out  the  world  ?  And  yet  I  did  sigh,  and  said  to  my 
self,  'Is  this  all?  Empty  heart!  what  is  it  longing  for? 
With  everything  this  world  can  give,  but  within,  an  aching 
void.' 

"  I  have  seen  Roland,  saw  him  at  church,  but  he  did  not 
see  me.  How  calm !  how  devotional  his  whole  manner! 
0,  for  the  peace  that  he  enjoys  ! 

"  Mr.  Grafton  called  a  few  days  ago  to  see  papa ;  all  his 
talk  was  of  Roland.  Roland's  goodness !  Roland's  bene 
volence  !  Roland's  talents !  It  was  a  pleasant  theme  — 
and,  when  he  told  about  the  News-boys'  Home,  which  he 
had  helped  to  establish,  I  felt  so  proud  of  him.  I  wonder 
what  made  him  think  so  much  of  the  news-boys !  could  he 
have  been  once  as  poor,  as  destitute  as  they  ?  Mr.  Grafton 


THE    EARLY    DAWN. 

hinted  it.  Poor  Rolaud !  what  he  must  have  suffered ! 
But  why  should  I  feel  proud  of  him?  He  is  Helen 
Thornly's  betrothed  ;  so  the  world  thinks,  so  Mr.  Grafton 
supposes,  and  Lavinia  Raymond  declares. 

****** 

"At  the  opera,  last  night,  the"  music  was  divine ;  but  the 
bewildering  acting,  the  unchaste  appearance  of  the  women, 
the  glitter  and  parade  of  the  audience, — was  this  what 
Roland  would  approve  of? 

"  I  lead  two  lives,  one  in  the  outside  world,  where  all  is 
show,  and  giddy  pleasure ;  another,  an  inner  life,  with 
every  fibre  of  my  nature  sending  out  its  clasping  tendrils 
to  reach  something  substantial,  enduring,  satisfying.  Like 
the  delicate  air-plant  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  I  stretch  for 
ward  to  grasp  it,  but  it  is  gone.  I  have  not  found  it  yet. 
Who  would  believe  it,  that  sees  Madeline  Hamilton  sur 
rounded  by  flatterers,  intoxicated  for  the  moment  with  the 
gay  blandishments  of  the  world,  smiling,  waltzing,  spark 
ling  in  magnificence?  Who  would  believe  that,  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  she  mourns,  and  weeps,  and  longs  for 
something  better. 

"  I  have  heard  of  that  better  part,  that  higher  life,  from 
Mrs.  Bruce,  from  Aunt  Clara,  from  Roland.  I  have  seen 
it -in  the  calm  tranquillity  of  their  daily  life,  in  the  blessed 

hopes  of  a  Christian's  death. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

"  Last  night,  I  was  at  Mrs.  Rossiter's  ball ;  it  was 
superb !  but  Oh  !  how  hollow !  Even  while  receiving  the 
hospitalities  of  their  hostess,  how  many  heartless  ones  did 
I  hear  whispering  disparaging  remarks,  criticizing  the  enter 
tainment,  and  prophesying  the  downfall  of  the  establish 
ment.  I  am  sick  of  this  folly — would  that  I  were  back  at 
Woodcliff,  among  the  green  trees,  the  quiet  lunes,  the  grand 
old  ocean,  the  solemn  cemetery,  with  dear  Effie,  my  good 
old  Hector,  faithful  Selim,  my  pets,  my  flowers;  anything 
but  this  heartless,  empty  show. 
20 


230  WOODCLIFF. 

"  O  !  what  an  hour  I  spent  when  I  retired  !  I  opened 
my  desk,  and  there  lay  the  dear  old  sea-weed,  given  so 
long  ago  by  my  best  friend,  my  childish  guide,  my  model 
boy  —  now  such  a  noble  man.  I  pressed  them  to  my 
burning  lips ;  what  would  I  give  for  one  hour's  heart  com 
munion,  such  as  we  used  to  love  in  days  that  are  gone. 
He  could  guide  me,  he  could  strengthen  me,  but  he  is  gone, 
he  is  another's  now.  Then  I  prayed  —  yes,  earnestly  — 
fervently;  and  I  resolved  that  this  empty,  frothy,  sinful 
life  should  end.  It  must  be  sinful ;  it  cannot  be  right  that 
an  accountable  creature  should  spend  the  solemn  days  of 
probation  in  such  frivolity. 

"Next  morning,  I  told  papa  that  we  must  go  home  — 
Aunt  Matilda  opposed  it  —  she  does  not  understand  me, 
but  Roland  does.  I  met  him  at  Helen  Thornly's — some 
thing  of  the  old  tenderness  in  his  manner ;  but  still  there 
is  a  gulf  between  us  which  seems  impassable.  But  I  can 
cherish  the  memory  of  all  that  he  used  to  be,  and  all  that 
he  has  taught  me.  All  that  I  know  of  goodness,  and  high 
and  holy  things,  I  have  learned  from  that  beggar  boy,  as 
Harry  Castleton  has  dared  to  call  him,  and  even  now!  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  wither  him  with  my  scorn,  and  certainly 
annihilated  him  with  one  of  my  haughtiest  looks,  for  I  have 
not  seen  him  since  that  day.  Harry  Castleton  sco'rn 
Roland  Bruce !  Roland  in  a  cottage,  struggling  with 
poverty,  as  I  have  seen  him,  with  the  grand  and  lofty 
spirit  of  the  Gordons ;  and  Harry  Castleton,  rolling  in 
wealth,  the  dweller  in  a  palace,  would  be  simply  Roland 

and  Harry  still. 

*****  * 

"At  home  again  !  How  I  ran  about  with  my  winter 
hood,  and  water-proof,  visiting  the  old  familiar  spots,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  presence  of  my  dumb  pets.  The  dear  old 

library my  harp  and  piano,  like  faithful  friends,  seemed  to 

welcome  me  again ;  the  sweet  Eolian  sounded  out  a  loud 


THE    EARLY    DAWN.  231 

paean,  for  sharp  March  winds  swept  over  its  strings,  and  it, 
too,  seemed  rejoicing. 

"  How  shall  I  occupy  my  time  ?  There  is  a  great  deal 
here  to  do.  I  should  like  to  do  some  good  in  the  world, 
and  live  for  something  beside  myself. 

"  Could  I  not  gather  a  little  group  of  poor  children,  and 
teach  them  ?  Could  I  not  establish  something  like  a  parish 
school  ?  There  are  so  many  poor  people  around  us,  that 
only  live  a  wild  life, — children  of  the  fishermen.  Effie  could 
help  me,  and  we  would  be  so  happy  together.  Then,  after 
awhile,  we  might  perhaps  have  the  services  of  our  own 
church ;  I-  could  get  a  missionary  to  come  here  twice  a- 
month  from  Boston,  and  then  we  may  have  a  church  of  our 

own ;  but  I  must  see  Aunt  Clara  first,  she  can  direct  me. 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

"  I  am  with  Aunt  Clara  again.  There  is  rest  in  her 
very  smile ;  the  soft  silver  hair  lies  so  quietly  around  her 
mild  face ;  the  peace  of  God  breathes  in  every  look  and 
motion.  She  is  so  different  from  Aunt  Matilda — she  draws 
me  heavenward  ;  Aunt  Matilda  drags  me  down. 

"  Poor  aunty !  what  a  pity  that  she  has  nothing  but  the 
things  of  this  world  to  lean  upon !  no  wonder  that  she  feels 
their  insecurity.  But,  dear  Aunt  Clara,  so  patient,  so 
peaceful,  so  happy.  I  can  pour  out  my  whole  heart,  I  can 
tell  her  all  my  thoughts. 

"  She  seems  to  anticipate  all  I  have  to  say.  How  sweet 
the  name  of  Jesus  sounds,  uttered  by  her  lips !  She  talks 
to  me  of  his  tenderness,  his  fulness,  his  preciousness,  until 
sometimes  I  feel,  '  None  but  Jesus !' 

"  Then  clouds  come  again  —  I  lose  my  hope,  and  all  is 
dark.  But  still  I  trust  that  there  is  some  progress  in  the 
inner  life.  I  love  my  Bible  ;  the  hour  of  prayer  is  precious ; 
the  house  of  God,  my  chief  joy.  Nothing  will  draw  me  to 
the  world  again,  I  hope ;  and  yet  my  '  heart  is  deceitful 
above  all  things,'  as  regards  the  things  of  God. 

"  Lavinia  urges  me  to  follow  in  her  sinful,  foolish  ways ;  I 


232  WOODCLIFF. 

will  not  —  I  have  refused  her  invitations  repeatedly,  and 
she  tries  the  power  of  ridicule.  She  does  not  know  me,  or 
she  would  not  try  the  weakness  of  such  a  weapon. 

"  I  am  too  proud  yet  to  yield  to  such  a  mode  of  opposition. 
Just  let  me  believe  myself  a  Christian,  and  Lavinia's  ridi 
cule  will  only  excite  my  sorrow. 

"  The  gay  world  has  lost  its  charms  for  me,  and  I  care  not 
what  Lavinia  and  her  friends  may  say.  She  has  told  me 
a  great  deal  about  Helen  Thornly,  and  has  convinced  me, 
that  she  is,  indeed,  the  chosen  companion  of  Roland's  future 
life  —  may  they  be  happy!  She  says  that  Roland  always 
speaks  of  me  with  the  affection  of  a  brother,  very  calmly, 
but  never  seems  willing  to  talk  about  Helen. 

"  How  much  of  my  present  state  of  feeling  may  arise  from 
this  loss  of  my  early  friend.  If  so,  how  little  is  this  weari 
ness  of  the  world  to  be  trusted !  in  other  circumstances, 
the  power  of  the  world  may  all  return. 

"  I  went  to  hear  Mr.  Endicott,  Aunt  Clara's  pastor.  What 
an  earnest,  faithful  sermon  !  What  a  picture  of  our  sinful 
nature  he  drew  !  it  is  all  too  true.  And  where  is  our  help? 
'  Look  unto  me,'  says  the  Blessed  Saviour ;  do  I  look  unto 
him  ?  if  I  did,  would  not  peace  visit  my  bosom  ? 

"  Oh !  for  a  living  faith  !  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  really 
had  exercised  s\ich  trust,  and  then  the  merest  trifle  draws 
my  heart  away,  and  my  peace  vanishes. 

"  Lavinia  has  such  power  to  annoy  me  —  she  takes 
malicious  pleasure  in  bringing  all  the  gossip  that  she  can 
about  Roland — why  should  I  be  so  disturbed  ?  He  is  only 
my  friend ;  I  am  mortified  that  I  should  allow  myself  to 
dwell  so  much  upon  these  circumstances.  I  had  a  letter 
from  Helen,  yesterday — it  was  full  of  Roland — she  says  if 
I  could  know  all,  I  would  value  him  as  highly  as  she  does. 

"How  little  does  she  know  of  me  !  What  can  be  the 
secret  which  she  cannot  disclose  ?  She  says  that  it  places 
him  among  the  noblest  and  the  best  of  men.  She  writes 
as  if  she  were  on  terms  of  close  intimacy  with  Roland ; 


THE    EARLY    DAWN.  233 

writes  of  mending  his  clothes,  attending  to  his  room,  help 
ing  him  in  his  work  among  the  News-boys.  It  is  evident 
that  she  loves  Roland  Bruce ;  and  how  can  she  do  other 
wise,  living  in  the  house  with  him  on  such  familiar  terms  ? 
May  they  be  happy  together !  But  it  does  seem  strange 
that  he  can  forget  his  old  friend  so  soon. 

"A  letter  from  papa ;  he  is  not  well  —  he  says  that  the 
parlor  is  so  melancholy,  the  harp  so  silent ;  he  wishes  me 
to  return ;  I  promised  him  that  I  would  ;  and  nothing  can 
keep  me  away. 

"Aunt  Clara  is  sorry  to  have  me  go  so  soon,  but  she 
thinks  it  is  my  duty,  and  bids  me  depart.  I  am  going,  to 
morrow —  she  prayed  so  earnestly  alone  with  me,  that  I 
might  be  kept  from  the  temptations  of  the  world,  and 

brought  really  to  the  feet  of  Jesus. 

******* 

"  I  am  at  home  again — papa  looks  so  thin  and  pale  ;  his 
spirits  are  very  low  —  Effie's  eyes  are  no  better;  I  am 
troubled  about  the  dear  girl,  more  than  she  is  about  her 
self ;  she  seems  to  live  in  the  spirit  of  a  beautiful  hymn. 

'  Sweet  to  lie  passive  in  his  hands, 
And  know  no  will  but  his.' 

"  I  spent  my  first  evening  at  the  harp,  playing  for  dear 
papa ;  he  seemed  so  happy  to  have  me  at  home  again  — 
how  fondly  he  hung  over  me  all  the  evening! 

"  What  should  I  be  without  him  ?  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  such  a  time. 

"  He  called  me  to  his  side  before  he  retired,  and  opening  a 
casket,  gave  me  such  a  beautiful  set  of  emeralds;  he  is 
never  tired  of  lavishing  gifts  upon  his  darling  child. 

"  To-day  Effie  was  sitting  near  the  window  trying  to  knit 
a  little;  she  seemed  sorely  perplexed,  frequently  dropping 
her  stitches,  and  scarcely  able  to  take  them  up  again  — 
Aunt  Matilda  observed  her. 
20* 


234  WOODCLIFF. 

" '  What  are  you  worrying  yourself  for,  Effie,  with  that 
knitting  ?' 

"  '  I  am  so  tired  of  doing  nothing,'  replied  the  dear  girl, 
while  large  tears  rolled  over  her  cheeks. 

"  Poor  dear  Effie  !  I  fear  that  she  is  really  losing  her  sight 
—  so  patient !  so  resigned  !  so  ready  for  the  will  of  her 
Heavenly  Father,  whatever  that  may  be. 

"  Roland  had  heard  of  her  sickness,  and  has  been  to  see 
her —  '  He  was  so  kind,'  Effie  says  ;  'so  gentle  to  his  little 
sister.'  She  says  that  he  asked  a  great  deal  about  me.  I 
wonder  if  he  has  the  little  shoe  yet  —  how  foolish  all  this 
is !  I  ought  not  to  write  such  folly. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  time  unoccupied — ought  I  not  to 
do  something  for  this  neighborhood  ? 

"  But  how  shall  I  begin  ?  In  my  walk,  yesterday,  I 
rambled  among  the  factory  children  ;  they  seem  very  poor 
and  ignorant;  can  I  not  do  something  for  them  ? 

"Aunt  Clara  gave  me  some  little  books  and  tracts  for  just 

such  people ;  I  think  I  will  take  some  among  them. 
******* 

"  I  went  this  morning  along  the  factory  lane,  with  my 
little  basket  in  my  hand;  the  children  found  that  I  had 
pretty  books  with  pictures.  Soon  they  were  running  after 
me. 

" '  Lady,  please  give  me  a  little  book,'  cried  one  little 
girl.  '  Give  me  one,  lady,'  '  and  me,'  '  and  me,'  sounded 
out  a  score  of  young  voices,  all  eager  for  a  book,  or  a  tract. 

"  The  books  were  soon  all  gone,  and  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  several  sit  down  by  the  road-side,  eagerly  ex 
amining  the  pictures,  while  others  ran  in  to  show  their 
mothers  what  they  had  got.  I  think  very  few  can  read, 
for  they  only  looked  at  the  pictures. 

"  One  little  curly-headed  girl,  with  bare  feet  and  ragged 
clothes,  came  pulling  me  by  the  dress. 

"'Lady,  please  come  and  see  my  mammy;  she  is  very 
sick.' 


THE    EARLY    DAWN.  235 

"  I  followed  the  child,  and  found  her  poor  mother  ex 
tended  upon  a  bed  of  sickness,  with  every  appearance  of 
want  and  misery.     I  questioned  her ;  she  had  been  sick  for* 
two  months ;  often  in  need  of  food  ;  her  two  children  worked 
at  the  factory,  and  their  scanty  wages  was  all  that  she  had. 

" '  Oh,  ma'am  !  the  rich  don't  know  the  value  of  tha 
lu-oken  pieces  which  they  throw  away ;  but  we  know, 
ma'am.' 

"  I  left  her  some  money,  and  promised  to  remember  poor 
Mrs.  Donnelly — she  had  set  me  to  earnest  thinking.  Her 
grateful  look  repaid  me  for  that  visit. 

"  In  the  next  cottage  was  an  old  bed-ridden  grandmo 
ther  ;  in  another  a  cripple ;  and  enough  all  around  to  con 
vince  me  that  Madeline  Hamilton  must  not  spend  an  idle 
life  around  Woodcliff.  Just  to  think  that  I  have  lived  so 
many  years  inelegance  and  ease,  and  all  this  misery  at  my 
very  doors.  I  thought  of  the  parable  of  the  steward,  and 
his  Lord's  return  to  reckon.  It  is  true  that  a  great  deal 
was  sent  out  from  Woodcliff  among  the  neighboring  poor, 
but  it  could  not  be  said  of  us  generally,  '  I  was  sick  and  ye 
visited  me.'  I  must  do  something — but  how  shall  it  be  ?  I 
will  ask  Effie  ;  she  knows  a  great  deal  about  these  people. 
Roland  could  tell  me ;  his  earnest,  warm  heart,  and  strong 
good  sense,  would  see  the  way  at  once.  It  will  be  so  plea 
sant  to  know  that  I  am  working  in  the  same  field  with 
Roland — he,  for  the  misery  of  New  York,  and  I,  for  that 
around  Woodcliff.  These  poor  children  have  no  time  for 
school,  and  yet  they  are  so  ignorant ;  can  I  teach  them  in 
any  way  ?  They  might  stop  work  on  Saturday  ;  I  would 
pay  their  mother  their  wages,  and  they  could  come  to  me 
in  the  afternoon  ;  they  would  thus  lose  no  money,  and  gain 
much  knowledge.  I  will  try,  and  Effie  can  help  me  to 
gather  the  children. 

****** 

"  I  went  yesterday — six  little  ones  promised  to  come  on 
Saturday.  Aunt  Matilda  is  shocked  with  the  idea  of  a  Miss 


236  WOODCLIPP 

Hamilton  becoming  the  Lady  Bountiful  of  the  neighbor 
hood. 

"  '  What  will  Mrs.  Grundy  say  ?'  is  ever  uppermost  with 
poor  aunty. 

"  I  have  a  room  all  my  own,  where  I  can  do  just  what  I 
please ;  my  pleasant  sitting-room,  where  I  can  easily  man 
age  twelve  little  girls.  I  will  have  some  nice  desks  and 
benches  made,  and  James  can  bring  them  in  every  Satur 
day. 

"  Yesterday  my  little  class  came  —  they  were  all  clean, 
but  several  barefoot  and  ragged. 

"  They  seemed  quite  bewildered  by  the  pretty  things 
around  them.  I  played  a  simple  hymn,  and  tried  to  teach 
them  to  say  it ;  but  they  were  struck  dumb  with  amaze 
ment.  I  suppose  that  they  had  never  seen  a  piano  before. 

"  I  amused  them  then  by  telling  them  a  sjory.  Effie  took 
them  out  in  the  garden,  and  gave  each  a  bunch  of  flowers. 
They  looked  so  pleased,  poor  little  things !  What  a  pity 
that  I  had  not  known  before  how  cheap  a  thing  it  is  to 
make  others  happy,  and  that  my  garden  could  brighten  so 
many  little  faces ;  but  I  don't  think  that  they  were  so  happy 
as  I — my  heart  felt  so  warm,  and  tears  of  gratitude  would 
rise,  when  I  remembered  all  God's  goodness  to  me.  There 
was  a  warm  glow  of  sunshine  around  Woodcliff  on  Satur 
day  afternoon,  and  it  shall  come  again. 

"  Effie  thinks  we  had  a  good  beginning  ;  the  little  ones 
promised  to  come  next  Saturday. 

"Aunt  Matilda  laughs  at  my  new  folly,  as  she  terms  it, 
saying,  'that  I  will  soon  grow  tired  of  it.' 

"  Papa  says,  '  I  am  glad  that  Madeline  has  thought  of  the 
children ;  it  will  employ  much  of  her  time.  I  sometimes 
think  that  we  spend  a  very  useless  life  here  at  Woodcliff.' 

"Aunt  Matilda  replies,  '  I  am  sure,  Lewis,  that  you  can 
not  expect  me  to  enter  into  any  such  plans.  I  am  much 
too  delicate  with  my  nervous  temperament ;  it  would  drive 
me  crazy  to  teach  little  children  ;  and  I  do  think  that  Made- 


THE    EARLY    DAWN.  237 

line  Hamilton  might  fnsd  employment  more  worthy  of  a 
young  lady.' 

"  I  have  written  to  Helen  to  send  me  some  shoes  for 
children,  and  some  books,  giving  her  a  short  account  of 
what  we  are  doing. 

"^Saturday  came  again — my  six  little  girls  were  punctual ; 
but  it  was  a  rainy  day,  and  they  brought  some  mud. 

"Aunt  Matilda  was  very  angry,  and  said  harsh  things. 
I  replied  haughtily,  and  with  one  of  my  outbursts  of 
temper. 

"  '  Well,  Madeline,  if  this  is  your  piety,  I  want  nothing 
to  do  with  it.' 

"  '  I  don't  pretend  to  piety,  aunt ;  I  only  want  to  do  some 
good  in  the  world ;  and  I  think  that  you  might  help,  instead 
of  hinder  me.' 

"  I  was  ashamed  of  myself,  and  deeply  depressed  for  all 
that  day — will  I  ever  learn  to  bridle  my  tongue  ? 

"  The  little  ones  were  glad  to  get  their  new  shoes — I  gave 
them  their  first  lessons ;  they  were  very  dull,  for  they  have 
never  been  taught  anything ;  and  it  was  hard  to  keep  their 
eyes  from  wandering  about  the  room,  and  out  into  the 
garden,  for  the  glass  doors  of  my  sitting  room  open  directly 
on  the  garden,  filled  with  beautiful  flowers.  A  hymn  which 
they  tried  to  sing,  and  a  bunch  of  flowers  for  each,  closed 

the  exercises." 

****** 

The  school  went  on  prosperously  for  several  weeks ;  the 
numbers  increased  to  twelve ;  and  Madeline  was  pleased  to 
see  some  improvement.  Erne  taught  each  one  orally  verses 
from  the  Bible,  and  simple  hymns,  for  she  could  not  use 
her  eyes  at  all. 

Weekly  the  young  girls  visited  the  factory  lane,  and 
soon  the  poor  people  learned  to  look  for  the  visit  with  great 
delight. 

The  sick  mother  was  tenderly  cared  for ;  the  old  grand 
mother  provided  with  what  she  needed  ;  the  cripple  com- 


238  WOODCLIFF. 

forted  by  kind  words,  and  gentle  ministrations ;  and  Made 
line  felt  the  joy  of  knowing  that  she  was  doing  something 
towards  lightening  human  misery.  But  Effie's  eyes  were 
growing  worse ;  it  was  deemed  advisable  to  consult  a  New 
York  oculist;  and  Madeline  was  obliged  to  accompany  the 
young  girl. 

The  Saturday  school  was  for  awhile  suspended,  much 
to  the  disappointment  of  the  little  ones,  for  they  were  very 
sorry  to  lose  their  kind  teachers. 

Being  alone,  it  was  thought  proper  that  they  should 
take  up  their  abode  in  a  private  boarding-house,  for  Made 
line  could  not  burden  her  friend  Mary  Trevor  with  the 
charge  of  Effie. 

But  little  encouragement  was  given  by  the  great  ocu 
list;  and  Madeline  was  now  convinced  that  her  friend  was 
doomed  to  a  life  of  darkness. 

Roland  was  not  in  New  York  when  they  first  arrived, 
having  gone  to  a  neighboring  town  on  important  business. 
Madeline  was  devoted  in  her  attendance  upon  Effie ;  read 
ing  to  her,  and  in  every  way  that  affection  could  invent, 
trying  to  turn  her  thoughts  from  herself.  Effie  was,  how 
ever,  in  habits  of  daily  self-communion,  schooling  her  young 
heart  to  what  she  felt  was  coming.  "  God  help  me  !"  was 
her  constant  cry  ;  and  when  was  that  feeble  prayer  ever 
disregarded  by  the  dear  Father  in  Heaven  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"AULD   LANG    SYNE." 

MADELINE'S  presence  in  New  York  is  soon  known  among 
her  friends ;  numberless  cards  are  left  at  her  house,  but  as 
her  errand  is  one  chiefly  of  business,  she  returns  but  few 
calls  ;  a  few  exceptions,  however,  are  made ;  for  she  wishes 
Effie  to  have  some  cheerful  society. 

Occasionally,  excursions  are  made  around  New  York 
for  the  purpose  of  amusing  her  young  friend,  for  Madeline 
spares  no  pains  to  cheer  her  drooping  spirits. 

Roland  has  returned  ;  he  has  been  absent  on  exceedingly 
annoying  and  troublesome  business,  and  somewhat  to  throw 
off  care,  takes  a  boat  for  the  bay. 

It  is  a  beautiful  evening,  and  has  invited  a  merry  party 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  take  the  same  excursion. 

Roland  does  not  relish  the  companionship  of  the  light- 
hearted,  and  withdraws  himself  from  their  neighborhood ; 
not  far  from  where  he  stands,  he  observes  the  form  of  a 
lady  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  boat;  sometimes  gazing 
dreamily  upon  the  water,  then  upon  the  heavens  above ;  it. 
looks  like  a  familiar  form. 

He  recognizes  the  face  of  Madeline,  but  avoids  recog 
nition,  because  he  wishes  to  watch  her  movements.  She 
seems  melancholy  and  abstracted,  and  hums  sadly  a 
familiar  air,  one  that  he  had  taught  her ;  the  dear  old  song 
of  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 

"  Does  she  remember  those  happy  times  ?"  thought  the 
young  man,  "  and  surrounded  as  she  is  by  so  much  to  make 

(239) 


240  WOODCLIFF. 

her  forget  those  early  days ;  does  she  still  cherish  the 
memory  of  her  boyish  friend  ?" 

He  observed  her  wipe  a  tear  silently  away,  and  as  she 
turned  to  renew  her  walk,  Roland  moved  towards  her,  and 
she  recognized  the  object  of  her  thoughts. 

"Mr.  Bruce!"  "Miss  Madeline!"  were  the  hasty  salu 
tations,  as  each  extended  a  hand  of  welcome. 

"How  came  you  here,  Miss  Madeline?"  was  Roland's 
first  question. 

"  I  am  here  with  Effie,  for  advice  with  regard  to  her 
eyes." 

"  Is  she  with  you  to-night  ?" 

"-She  is  not,  for  she  has  but  little  heart  for  amusement ; 
she  insisted  on  my  coming,  and  I  have  left  her  in  good 
company  for  the  evening." 

"  Tou  were  musing,  Miss  Madeline,"  said  Roland,  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  and  singing  that  old  Scotch  song ;  did  it  re 
call  former  childish  days  ?" 

For  a  minute,  Madeline  did  not  reply ;  at  last  she  said, 
"  I  shall  never  forget  those  days ;  how  often  do  I  need  just 
such  a  friend  as  I  had  then." 

"  There  is  a  friend,  Madeline,  '  that  sticketh  closer  than 
a  brother ;'  have  you  found  him  yet  ?" 

"  I  am  trying,  Roland,  but  there  is  much  to  hinder  ;  my 
faith  is  very  weak;  my  heart  very  deceitful." 

"  Your  Saviour  knows  that,  Madeline  ;  he  is  not  only 
the  'author,  but  the  finisher  of  our  faith  ;'  if  you  have  any, 
even  as  much  as  the  grain  of  mustard  seed,  it  is  of  his 
planting ;  he  only  can  make  it  grow ;  do  you  look  to  him 
daily  ?"  and  Roland  bent  more  closely  to  Madeline,  as  they 
paced  the  deck  together. 

"  I  think  I  have  that  little  grain;  but  my  great  infirmities 
of  character  do  so  harass  me ;  my  quick  impetuous  temper 
make  me  feel  so  unworthy.  I  have  no  one  to  strengthen 
me  now  as  when  I  went  to  Maple  Lane  School." 


"AULD    LANG    SYNE."  241 

"  Do  the  temptations  of  the  world  draw  your  heart  away 
from  better  things,  Madeline  ?" 

"  I  think  not ;  I  care  for  none  of  them ;  I  want  to  be  a 
Christian,  wholly;  to  live  a  better,  higher,  holier  life." 

"  These  are  the  teachings  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  Madeline ; 
God  will  perfect  his  own  work ;  only  do  not  resist  these 
influences,  they  are  sent  from  Heaven." 

"  Lately  I  wanted  your  advice  so  much ;  I  want  to  do 
some  good  at  Woodcliff ;  but  I  did  not  know  how  to  begin." 

"  I  have  heard,  Madeline,  about  your  little  school ;  go  on, 
my  young  friend,  God  will  guide  and  bless  you." 

"  How  did  you  hear,  Roland  ?" 

"  Did  you  not  write  to  Helen  for  books  and  shoes  ?  she 
told  me  all  about  it." 

Madeline  shrank  away  at  the  mention  of  Helen's  name, 
for  she  feared  that  she  had  been  too  communicative  about 
herself,  but  it  seemed  so  like  the  old  times,  that  she  could 
not  resist  the  opportunity  of  opening  her  heart  on  this  one 
subject. 

"  Does  Helen  take  any  interest  in  such  things  ?"  inquired 
Madeline. 

"Yes,  she  does  now,"  was  the  answer;  "she  is  quite  a 
help  to  me  in  my  '  Home.'  I  wish  that  you  could  do  some 
thing  for  us,  Madeline." 

"  How  can  I  work  for  you  away  off  at  Woodcliff?" 

"  Why,  you  have  a  very  fertile  imagination,  and  used  to 
be  famous  at  story-telling  —  can't  you  manufacture  some 
thing  for  the  '  News-boys  ?'  " 

"  I  write  stories,  Roland !  why,  I  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing  —  but  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  if  I  could  so 
write  for  them,  and  work  for  you." 

"  I  want  you  to  work  for  God,  Madeline ;  you  have  bright 
talents,  my  little  friend ;"  and  Roland  seemed  to  have  gone 
back  to  the  days  on  the  sea-shore,  and  to  forget  that  he  was 
talking  to  a  young  lady,  the  heiress  of  Woodcliff,  instead 
of  little  Maddy  of  Maple  Lane  School. 
21 


242  WOODCLIFF. 

Madeline  smiled,  for  it  made  her  very  happy  to  feel  that 
she  could,  in  any  way,  be  a  coworker  with  Roland,  and  she 
really  felt  as  if  she  could  make  the  effort ;  it  was  worth 
trying. 

"Must  it  be  very  religious,  Roland?"  •;  •  ' 

"  It  must  be  something  to  wake  up  the  moral  sense  of 
these  poor  boys,  and  to  point  them  to  a  holy  life." 

"  Oh !  that  is  too  much  for  me,  Roland ;  I  can,  perhaps, 
write  a  little  story  which  may  please  them,  and  keep  them 
from  bad  reading." 

"  Will  you  promise  me  to  try,  Madeline  ?  send  it  on  to 
me,  and  I  will  correct  it,  and  get  it  ready  for  the  press." 

Suddenly  Madeline  burst  out  into  one  of  her  old  fits  of 
laughing ;  her  own  ringing,  silvery  laugh. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  Roland ;  it  seems  so  strange  to 
think  of  Madeline  Hamilton  turning  authoress." 

"  It  does  not  seem  strange  to  me ;  I  always  believed  that 
you  were  born  for  something  very  good,  Madeline  ;  now  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  your  little  school,  and  the 
poor  people  around  Woodcliff." 

And  Madeline  entered  into  an  animated  description  of 
all  that  had  been  attempted ;  so  artless,  so  naive  was  her 
account,  so  modest,  and  yet  so  frank,  that  Roland  felt  as  if 
he  was  seated  once  more  by  the  bright  child  of  the  sea 
shore  ;  but  when  he  remembered  that  years  had  passed 
since  then,  and  that  the  broad  gulf  of  wealth  and  rank 
forbade  the  free,  charming  intercourse  of  those  young  days; 
he  checked  expressions  that  would  have  arisen  to  his  lips, 
and  hushed  the  wild  beating  of  his  heart,  awakening  to  the 
sense  of  danger,  that  attended  such  an  interview  as  this. 

"  You  promise  to  write  the  story,  Madeline,  remember." 

"  Yes,  I  promise  anything,"  and  she  checked  the 

remaining  words  trembling  on  her  lips, — "to  you." 

They  forgot  the  passing  of  time  in  this  sweet  communion, 
until  Charles  Davenport  came  up  to  Madeline,  and  laying 
Ms  hand  upon  her  arm,  said,  haughtily, 


"AULD    LANG    SYNE."  243 

"Are  you  aware,  Madeline,  how  long  you  have  been 
absent  from  your  party  ?" 

"Are  you  aware  that  you  are  interrupting  my  conver 
sation  with  an  old  friend  ?" 

"An  old  friend,  indeed!     May  I  ask  the  name?" 

"Mr.  Bruce,"  "Charles  Davenport." 

"  How  long  since  you  resigned  your  post  at  college, 
sir?" 

"What  post,  Mr.  Davenport?" 

"  That  which  you  held  when  I  was  a  member  of  that 
college." 

Roland  did  not  answer — indignation  was  too  strong ;  but 
Madeline  did. 

"  I  understand  your  insinuation,  sir ;  how  dare  you  in 
sult  Roland  Bruce  ?  You  cannot  lower  him ;  you  have  tried 
it  too  often,  and  failed." 

Poor  Madeline  1  aware  of  the  hot  blood  that  was  mounting 
to  her  face,  she  covered  it  with  her  hands,  and  murmured, 

"  Begone,  Charles  Davenport ;  you  make  me  forget  that 
I  am  a  woman ;  I  am  so  ashamed,  what  shall  I  do  ?''  and 
she  burst  into  tears  of  wounded  modesty. 

Charles  went  off  whistling. 

"  Quite  a  scene  with  that  upstart  fellow !" 

Roland  stood  by  Madeline,  scarcely  knowing  what  to 
say.  He  was  aware  that  her  innate  sense  of  propriety  had 
been  greatly  outraged  by  the  words  which  in  her  impetu 
osity  she  had  uttered ;  he  stood  silent  for  one  minute,  then 
taking  her  hand,  said, 

"  I  understand  your  generous  nature,  Madeline ;  I  thank 
you  more  than  words  can  express." 

"I  am  humbled,  mortified  at  my  impetuosity;  do  not 
think  me  destitute  of  modesty,  Roland." 

"  You,  Madeline  !  you  know  not  what  you  are  saying — 
be  satisfied  when  I  say  that  if  the  expression  of  the  deepest 
respect  that  ever  filled  the  heart  of  man  can  relieve  your 
wounded  pride,  it  is  all  your  own." 


244  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Thank  you,  Roland  ;  1  could  not  bear  to  lose  your  re 
spect  ;  let  me  always  deserve  that." 

Taking  her  hand,  and  placing  it  within  his  arm;  he  led 
her  to  her  party,  saying, 

"  Good  night,  Miss  Madeline ;  I  shall  see  you  and  Effie 
to-morrow ;"  for  Roland  felt  that  this  heart-communion  was 
becoming  each  moment  more  dangerous. 

"Who  was  that  young  man?"  inquired  Mary  Trevor; 
"  he  is  so  noble-looking,  and  what  a  bow !  quite  the  air  of  a 
prince !" 

"  Poor  and  proud !"  retorted  Charles  Davenport. 

"  He  is  an  early  friend  of  mine,  Mary.  His  name  is 
Bruce." 

"  0  yes !  he  is  in  Mr.  Thornly's  office ;  I  have  met  him 
there  several  times ;  he  is  a  young  man  of  fine  talents,  and 
quite  an  admirer  of  Helen  Thornly ;  some  say  more." 

Madeline  did  not  reply,  but  there  was  something  in  her 
heart  that  night,  that  made  her  feel  very  easy  with  regard 
to  these  rumors ;  at  all  events,  Roland  has  lost  none  of  his 
interest  in  his  youthful  friend,  and  Madeline  dreamed  about 
Woodcliff,  and  Maple  Lane  School,  about  the  sea-shore, 
Uncle  Peter,  and  a  little  shoe. 

Next  morning,  Roland  called  to  see  his  sister,  and  was 
deeply  pained  at  the  evidences  manifest  of  the  affliction 
hanging  over  his  darling  Effie.  <*.> 

Folding  her  in  his  arms,  he  pressed  upon  her  sweet  face 
the  warm  kisses  of  brotherly  love. 

"  Would,  darling,  that  I  could  shelter  you  from  the  woes 
of  life ;  but  Effie,  this  is  not  our  home ;  we  are  seeking  a 
better  one ;  and  if  for  a  little  while  our  Father  sees  fit  to 
close  my  sister's  eyes,  I  will  be  eyes  and  everything  else 
for  her." 

"  I  know  it,  Roland  ;  I  am  trying  to  school  my  heart;  I 
know  what  is  coming ;  each  day  the  light  becomes  more 
dim ;  but  the  presence  of  my  Saviour  is  always  with  me ; 
I  can  still,  with  the  eyes  of  my  soul,  'Look  aloft.'  I  have 


"AULD    LANG    SYNE."  245 

BO  many  blessings,  Roland ;  a  pleasant  home,  good  kind 
friends,  a  dear,  dear  brother,  such  a  friend  in  Madeline,  and 
the  hope  of  Heaven  always  so  bright." 

Roland  smoothed  the  soft  brown  hair,  kissed  the  pale 
forehead,  and  lifting  up  his  voice,  prayed  so  fervently  for 
the  dear  stricken  lamb,  that  Effie  was  comforted. 

A  few  more  days,  and  the  young  girls  returned  to  Wood- 
cliff,  with  the  sad  certainty  that  nothing  more  could  be  done 
for  Effie. 

Roland  saw  them  safely  in  the  cars,  and  promised  to 
write  frequently  to  his  sister. 

"  Remember  your  promise,"  was  his  last  charge  to  Ma 
deline. 

As  soon  as  possible,  she  made  preparations  for  her  new 
effort ;  carefully  concealing  from  her  father  *and  aunt  the 
nature  of  her  employment. 

She  was  some  time  deciding  whether  her  hero  should  be 
a  good  or  a  bad  boy;  she  tried  both,  but  was  dissatisfied. 
At  last,  she  selected  one  from  the  very  lowest  walks  of  life, 
and  the  deepest  degradation,  raised  by  the  power  of  Chris 
tian  love  to  a  post  of  useful,  earnest  piety. 

As  her  story  progressed,  she  read  each  chapter  to  Effie, 
who  was  delighted  at  the  genius  manifested  by  her  model 
friend. 

At  length  it  was  completed,  and  sent  to  Roland ;  nothing 
was  heard  of  it  for  some  time.  So  humble  was  her  sense 
of  its  demerits,  that  Madeline  looked  daily  for  the  return 
of  her  manuscript. 

Finally,  a  letter  came  to  Effie,  announcing  that  all  ar 
rangements  were  made,  the  book  disposed  of,  and  would  be 
out  in  about  two  months ;  but  Roland  asked  what  was  to  be 
done  with  the  money  for  the  manuscript. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  the  young  girl ;  "  but  tell 
Roland,  Effie,  to  keep  the  money  for  the  '  Home.' " 

When  at  last  the  package  came,  and  Madeline  really 
looked  upon  one  of  her  own  productions  in  print,  she  could 
21* 


246  WOODCLIFF. 

not  but  smile  at  her  temerity ;  and  when  in  addition  to  the 
book,  were  also  some  flattering  notices  from  the  press,  she 
was  actually  surprised. 

Papa  was  in  the  library — Madeline  knocked  at  the  door 
with  a  trembling  hand;  and  when  her  father  bade  her 
enter,  she  stood  irresolute  with  the  book  in  her  hand,  and  a 
shy  smile  upon  her  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  daughter  ?  you  seem  agitated.'' 

"I  have  something  to  show  you,  papa." 

"  Well !  what  is  it  ?     I  am  ready." 

"  This  little  book,  papa." 

"  Poh  1  poh  !  is  that  all  ?  only  a  boy's  book,  Maddy." 

"  But  I  know  that  you'd  like  to  read  this  one,  papa." 

"  Well,  to  please  my  daughter,  I'll  read  it  some  time ;  lay 
it  on  the  table." 

"  But,  papa,  I  want  you  to  read  it  now ;  look  at  the  title- 
page." 

"  By  Madeline."     "  Why,  what  does  this  mean  ?" 

"  It  means,  dear  papa,  that  this  is  Mad-cap's  book." 

"  Did  you  really  write  this,  my  child  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  papa ;  I  hope  it  may  do  some  good  among 
the  poor  boys  of  New  York." 

"  What  next,  Maddy  ?"  asked  her  father,  with  an  amused 
expression  of  countenance. 

"  I  must  be  busy,  and  this  is  such  pleasant  work ;  you  do 
not  object,  do  you,  papa  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  have  your 
name  handed  around  as  an  authoress;  I  have  rather  a 
horror  of  literary  ladies  in  general ;  they  are  so  often  odd, 
and  I  cannot  abide  an  eccentric  woman." 

"  But,  dear  me,  papa,  these  little  unpretending  stories  are 
really  nothing ;  they  never  can  make  me  famous  ;  and  really 
I  do  not  wish  for  anything  but  that  they  may  do  some 
good." 

Papa  read  the  little  book  with  a  feeling  of  secret  pride, 
quite  surprised  to  see  so  much  talent  in  his  daughter  Maddy. 


"AULD  LANG  SYNE."  247 

At  the  tea-table,  be  alluded  to  the  subject. 

"  Well,  what  would  you  think,  Matilda,  if  I  should  in 
troduce  Madeline  to  her  aunt,  as  a  young  authoress?'' 

"  Think,  Lewis  Hamilton !  why  I  should  say  that  you 
are  both  crazy.  First,  a  Lady  Bountiful,  bringing  in  all 
the  ragged  children  of  the  neighborhood,  and  now  a  writer 
of  childish  books.  I  am  really  concerned ;  if  she  becomes 
a  '  blue  stocking,'  I  have  no  hope  left ;  she  will  grow  to  be 
a  careless,  slatternly  woman,  just  like  that  Miss  Hodges, 
that  used  to  go  about  the  country  with  soiled  face  and 
hands,  carrying  her  great  bag  of  manuscript  under  her 
skirts,  fastened  around  her  waist,  like  saddle-bags.  You 
have  no  idea,  Lewis  Hamilton,  how  these  pursuits  ruin  a 
woman — your  indulgence  carries  you  much  too  far." 

Mr.  Hamilton  laughed  heartily  at  such  a  picture. 

"Don't  alarm  yourself,  Matilda;  I  don't  think  that  Ma 
deline  will  ever  reach  notoriety  like  that." 

"  Why,  aunty,  I  can't  see  how  you  could  ever  dream  of 
such  a  thing ;  you  know  bow  I  despise  a  sloven ;  if  I 
thought  that  I  could  ever  become  such  a  disgusting  person, 
I  would  burn  my  papers  at  once,  and  consign  my  poor  little 
attempts  to  the  oblivion  which  they  may  reach  in  another 
way ;  but,  dear  aunt,  really  in  earnest,  I  promise  you  to 
wash  my  face  and  hands,  and  comb  my  hair  at  least  once  a 
day,  and  not  to  disgrace  my  name." 

Throwing  her  arms  around  Aunt  Matilda's  neck,  she 
kissed  her  affectionately,  and  said, 

"  Now  confess,  aunty,  did  not  you  think  first,  'And  what 
will  Mrs.  Grundy  say  ?'  Is  not  that  the  truth  ?"  And  Maddy 
was  victor  as  usual  of  the  whole  ground  ;  father,  aunt,  and 
all  who  had  read  her  little  book. 

"  Write  to  your  heart's  content,  Maddy,  only  avoid  those 
follies  which  are  so  often  seen." 

The  little  school  prospered.  Effie  aided  as  far  as  her 
strength  allowed.  Total  blindness  had  spread  its  dark 
mantle  over  the  dear  girl. 


248  WOODCLIFF. 

It  was  truly  a  mournful  sight  to  behold  the  desolate 
orphan,  groping  her  way  about  the  house,  feeling  by  the 
banisters,  and  along  the  walls  ;  or  sitting  with  folded  hands, 
and  meek  submissive  face,  generally  in  Madeline's  sitting 
room. 

Her  health  was  evidently  on  the  decline  ;  a  feebler  step, 
failing  appetite,  longings  for  the  better  land  marked  her 
approach  to  her  Father's  house. 

She  had  learned  to  knit  very  expertly,  even  without  eye 
sight,  and  it  was  with  feelings  of  humble  contentment  that 
she  could  thus  employ  her  fingers,  for  many  a  nice  pair  of 
warm  stockings  were  thus  provided  for  their  little  pupils. 
Seated  in  Madeline's  favorite  room,  she  could  smell  the 
fragrance  of  the  flowers,  hear  the  warbling  of  birds,  and 
the  sweet  voice  of  her  dear  friend  at  her  daily  practice. 
Her  chapter  in  the  Bible  was  read  to  her  every  morning, 
by  Madeline,  who  would  then  arrange  her  chair,  get  Effie's 
knitting,  and  busy  herself  about  her  own  employments. 

"  Will  you  get  me  a  bunch  of  heather,  Maddy  ?  I  want 
it  near  me ;  it  was  my  mother's  flower,  you  know." 

"  Here  it  is,  Effie  ;"  and  placing  it  in  her  hands,  Made 
line  kissed  the  sweet  pale  face,  while  the  blind  girl  pressed 
it  to  her  lips  with  sweet  memories  of  the  departed. 

"  Is  it  a  bright  morning,  Madeline  ?"  asked  the  orphan. 

"  Bright  as  a  May  morning  can  be,  Effie ;  the  dew  is 
yet  on  the  sweet  flowers,  and  all  is  charming  and  refresh 
ing." 

"  I  can  well  afford  to  be  contented  with  my  present 
blindness,  Madeline ;  for  I  shall  soon  see  the  brighter 
scenes,  and  pluck  the  flowers  of  Paradise ;  will  you  sing 
for  me  that  sweet  hymn, 

•Thy  will  be  done?'  " 

and  as  Madeline  poured  out  the  plaintive  melody  of  that 
touching  air,  Effie  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  with  a  sweet 
placid  look  of  perfect  happiness. 


"AULD    LANG    SYNE."  249 

"  Madeline,  it  is  a  precious  experience  '  to  know  no  will 
but  his,'  willing  to  live,  joyful  to  die ;  I  would  live  for 
Roland,  but  die  to  be  with  Jesus  and  my  mother ;  by-the- 
bye,  Madeline,  to-morrow  is  the  day  when  we  may  expect 
my  brother;  did  he  not  say  on  Thursday?" 

"He  did  in  his  last  letter  to  you,  and  he  is  a  faithful 
promiser." 

Seated  in  her  accustomed  place,  Effie  listens  eagerly  for 
every  step,  for  her  remaining  senses  are  made  more  acute 
by  the  loss  of  one ;  the  step  on  the  gravelled  walk,  then  on 
the  piazza,  the  closing  of  the  front  door,  the  firm  tread 
along  the  hall,  and  the  voice  so  beloved,  sends  a  glow  of 
joy  over  the  face  of  the  blind  girl,  and  rising,  she  gropes 
her  way  hastily  to  the  entry,  where  she  is  soon  folded  to  the 
bosom  of  her  "dear,  dear  Roland." 

He  gazes  sadly  for  one  moment  upon  the  sightless  t-yos, 
the  pale  drooping  form,  and  the  hectic  bloom  on  the  thin 
face,  and  feels  that  Effie  is  following  their  mother  to  the 
land  of  the  blessed. 

But  Roland  has  a  cheerful  spirit,  and  nothing  but  strong 
comforting  words  pass  his  lips  when  alone  with  his  little 
sister.  He  tells  her  of  his  plans,  of  his  success  in  busi 
ness,  and  his  News-boys'  Home,  of  incidents  connected 
with  the  history  of  several,  and  amusing  accounts  of  their 
first  entrance  upon  civilized  life. 

11  Would  you  believe  it,  Effie,  that  one  poor  little  fellow 
did  not  know  the  use  of  a  staircase,  and  we  found  him 
groping  up  on  his  hands  and  feet  as  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  do  by  the  ladder  of  his  gloomy  garret.  There 
was  a  looking-glass  in  the  matron's  room,  and  the  same 
little  fellow  was  pushing  through,  thinking  it  was  another 
room." 

Effie  laughed  at  these  stories,  and  thought  her  brother 
the  most  entertaining  company  that  she  had  ever  met. 

"  Now,  brother,  tell  me  all  about  Madeline's  book ;  did 
the  boys  like  it  ?" 


250  WOODCLIFF. 

"  It  was  the  very  book  for  them  ;  they  are  always  asking 
for  '  The  Boy  in  Earnest ;'  each  one  is  to  have  a  copy  on 
Christmas  morning." 

Turning  to  Madeline,  he  continued, 

"  You  must  go  on  with  your  stories ;  the  publisher  was 
delighted,  and  wants  more  from  the  same  source.  I  have 
some  matter  which  I  can  give  you,  and  you  can  weave  it 
into  the  form  of  a  tale  for  us — you  see  that  my  advice  was 
good,  Madeline,  although  you  were  so  afraid  to  try." 

"  It  is  always  right,  Roland ;  you  never  advised  me  for 
anything  but  my  good,  but  you  ought  to  hear  Aunt  Matilda 
make  fun  of  these  things ;  she  says  that  I  shall  forget  to 
wash  my  face  and  hands  after  awhile ;  do  you  think  that 
there  is  really  any  danger  of  such  a  calamity?"  and  Made 
line  smiled  archly  on  her  friend. 

"  Not  if  I  may  judge  by  present  appearances ;"  was  the 
reply,  as  Roland  gazed  with  an  admiring  look  upon  the 
perfect  lady-like  neatness  of  hair,  dress,  and  manner  that 
always  distinguished  Madeline. 

"  I  never  could  tell  what  you  wear,  but  I  think  that  your 
aunt  need  not  wish  anything  different." 

Madeline  blushed  at  the  compliment  so  unusual  from  the 
lips  of  Roland,  and  made  a  low  mischievous  courtesy,  with 
the  witchery  of  former  times. 

"  Thank  you,  kind  sir,  you  had  better  take  care,  lest  you 
make  me  vain,  instead  of  a  'blue  stocking;'  and  one  is  as 
bad  as  the  other." 

"Pure  motives,  Madeline,  will  make  all  right;  every, 
thing  in  its  proper  place,  but  God  over  all." 

A  bright  blush  mantled  the  young  face,  and  a  light 
beamed  from  the  deep  blue  eyes,  illumining  the  whole 
countenance,  which  Madeline  did  not  care  to  be  wholly  re 
vealed,  for  she  dropped  the  lids  hastily,  lest  the  eyes  should 
speak  too  much. 

The  Saturday  school  assembled  before  Roland  returned 
to  New  York. 


"AULD    LANG    SYNE."  251 

On  a  visit  to  Effie,  he  had  the  pleasure  of  being  present 
at  one  of  these  gatherings. 

Madeline  was  much  embarrassed,  and  could  scarcely  pro 
ceed  with  her  work  in  his  presence. 

Understanding  her  feelings,  he  said,  kindly, 

"  Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do,  Miss  Madeline  ?" 

"  If  you  will  make  the  opening  prayer,  I  should  be 
pleased.  I  use  our  forms  of  prayer,  but  I  would  rather  hear 
yours  to-day.'' 

Roland  poured  forth  a  simple,  heart-felt,  earnest  prayer, 
remembering  all  the  members  of  that  household,  as  well  as 
the  children  kneeling  around  them.  Madeline  had  never 
heard  him  pray,  and  when  he  named  her  as  the  young 
teacher  of  the  little  flock,  she  felt  that  more  earnestness 
marked  those  petitions,  and  deeply  was  she  moved  by  the 
glowing  language  of  that  solemn  supplication. 

He  took  Effie's  class,  and  although  apparently  engrossed 
by  the  employment  of  the  hour,  watched  with  deep  emo 
tion  the  humble,  affectionate  manner  with  which  Made 
line  performed  her  duty  towards  her  young  pupils. 

He  did  not  wonder  at  their  interest,  when  he  glanced  at 
the  earnest  glow  of  her  lovely  countenance,  nor  at  the  re 
verence  of  the  young  faces,  when  he  listened  to  the  simple 
instruction  which  she  endeavored  to  impart. 

At  the  close,  Madeline  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and 
played  one  of  her  childish  hymns,  in  which  they  all  joined ; 
then  the  bunch  of  flowers,  as  usual,  was  the  kind  dis 
missal. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  granny  is  very  bad  with  the  rheumatiz," 
said  little  Betsy  Smith ;  "  she  wants  you  to  come  and  see 
her." 

"  I  will  come  to-morrow,  Betsy." 

"  And  please,  ma'am,"  said  another,  "  daddy  broke  his 
leg  last  week;  won't  you  stop  at  our  house  ?" 

Madeline  blushed  as  she  saw  the  expression  with  which 


252  WOODCLIFF. 

Roland  regarded  her,  as  she  answered  the  humble  peti 
tioners. 

"  God  bless  you,  Miss  Madeline,  in  your  good  work,"  said 
the  young  man,  as  he  warmly  pressed  her  hand ;  "  but  this 
is  a  novel  kind  of  school  in  a  young  lady's  sitting-room,  in 
the  midst  of  flowers  and  music,  and  such  teachers." 

"  Our  accommodations  are  not  suitable,  we  know ;  but 
we  hope  for  something  better  some  of  these  days." 

"  The  children  will  be  sorry  to  move  away  from  this," 
was  the  quick  reply. 

"  But  we  can  teach  so  few  in  this  room,  and  we  might 
as  well  have  more." 

Roland  was  more  pleased  than  he  could  express  with  all 
that  he  had  seen,  and  when  he  took  his  departure,  his  last 
words  were, 

"  God  bless  you,  Miss  Madeline,  and  do  not  forget  an 
other  book." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

OUT   IN    THE    LIGHT. 

IT  is  a  bright  and  beautiful  day — Madeline  looks  tenderly 
upon  the  drooping  invalid  reclining  upon  the  couch  in  her 
pleasant  sitting-room. 

"  Will  you  walk  this  morning,  Effie  ?  the  air  is  so  pure 
and  fresh,  it  will  revive  you." 

She  raised  her  languid  head  for  one  moment,  and  replied, 

"  I  cannot  to-day,  dear,  I  am  too  weak  ;  come  read  to  me 
some  of  the  precious  Saviour's  words  ;  they  will  comfort 
me." 

Madeline  selected  some  passages  from  the  fourteenth 
chapter  of  John,  those  which  have  cheered  so  many  weary 
pilgrims  on  their  journey  homeward. 

"  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions ;  if  it  were 
not  so,  I  would  have  told  you;  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you." 

"  '  Many  mansions,'  dear  Madeline,  and  one  is  mine,  pur 
chased  by  a  Saviour's  blood,  ensured  to  me  by  his  unfailing 
truth." 

Madeline's  eyes  filled,  and  her  voice  trembled  as  she 
continued. 

"  And  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come 
again,  and  receive  you  unto  myself;  that  where  I  am,  there 
ye  may  be  also." 

" '  I  will  come  again,'  Maddy ;  listen  to  those  words } 
Jesus  will  come  again,  and  where  he  is,  I  shall  be  also ; 
with  Jesus,  dearest ;  with  my  mother  in  Paradise ;  out  in 
the  light ;  no  more  blindness,  no  more  darkness,  but  perfect 
bliss  ;  this  is  my  hope." 

22  (253) 


254  WOODCLIFF. 

^Madeline  took  up  the  next  verse^ 

'/And  whither  I  go  ye  know,  and  the  way  ye  know." 

"  Yes,  blessed  be  God  !  I  know  the  way ;  I  have  known 
it  so  long;  my  mother  led  my  infant  steps  in  that  holy 
way,  and  I  cannot  remember  when  I  did  not  love  my  Sa 
viour.  0,  what  cause  have  I  to  praise  my  God!  While 
so  many  are  living  in  sin,  dancing  merrily  in  the  way  to 
death,  his  grace  has  saved  me,  Maddy ;  if  I  had  been  like 
others,  rich  and  healthy,  I  might  have  been  just  as  thought 
less,  just  as  vain." 

Madeline  continued  until  she  came  to  the  verse,  "  Jesus 
saith  unto  him,  I  am  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and  the  life  ;  no 
man  cometh  unto  the  Father  but  by  me." 

"  He  does  not  leave  us,  dear,  to  grope  in  darkness,  when 
he  says,  '  Come  unto  me;'  he  leads  the  way  himself;  he  is 
the  truth  ;  he  guides  us  into  all  truth  ;  he  is  the  life,  Maddy, 
the  life  of  the  immortal  soul ;  through  him  we  have  pardon, 
access  to  God,  and  the  hope  of  eternal  life  sure  and  sted- 
fast ;  poor,  weak,  trembling  thing  that  I  am,  I  can  cast  my 
little  anchor  within  the  vail,  and  feel  it  on  a  rock.  I  know 
that  this  faith  must  be  divine,  for  I  am  such  a  fearful,  timid 
being,  afraid  of  so  many  things  around  me,  and  yet  not 
afraid  to  meet  a  pure  and  holy  God  in  judgment ;  this  faith 
must  be  all  his  work,  Maddy.'' 

With  a  heart  full  of  sympathy,  Madeline  continued  until 
she  reached  the  thirteenth  verse. 

"And  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  my  name,  that  will  I 
do,  that  the  Father  may  be  glorified  in  the  Son.  If  ye  shall 
ask  anything  in  my  name,  I  will  do  it." 

" '  If  ye  shall  ask  anything  in  my  name ;'  think  of  the 
promise,  Madeline,  'I  will  do  it.'  I  have  believed  my  Sa 
viour,  and  I  have  asked  eternal  life  for  you,  and  my  Saviour 
will,  yes  dear,  he  is  hearing  my  prayer,  and  Roland's  too — 
how  often  have  we  prayed  together  for  you." 

Madeline's  head  drooped  for  one  moment,  and  she  could 
scarcely  proceed ;  but  she  answered 


OUT    IN    THE    LIGHT.  255 

"  Do  you  really  believe,  Effie,  that  I  shall  ever  be  a  Chris 
tian  ?  that  I,  proud,  self-willed  Madeline,  shall  ever  be  like 
the  meek  and  lowly  Saviour?'' 

"  Yes,  dear,  if  you,  like  Mary,  will  sit  daily  at  his  feet, 
he  will  teach  you  ;  he  will  make  you  like  himself;  and  then, 
Maddy,  after  all  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  this  mortal  life 
are  ended,  we  shall  be  forever  with  him." 

"  Does  it  ever  grieve  you  to  think  of  leaving  this  world, 
Effie  ?"  asked  her  friend. 

"  When  I  think  of  Roland  all  alone,"  and  her  lips  qui 
vered,  "  then  my  heart  is  sad,  for  he  has  none  but  me ;  but 
you'll  be  kind  to  him,  Madeline  ;  you  will  not  forget  Effie's 
brother." 

"  There  is  Helen  Thornly,  Effie ;  while  he  has  her,  he 
will  not  be  desolate." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Madeline  ?  Helen  is  only  a  kind 
friend  to  Roland,  nothing  more ;  she  helps  him  in  his  mis 
sionary  work,  and  that  brings  them  much  together ;  there 
is  nobody  in  the  wide  world  that  Roland  values  as  he  does 
you,  Maddy ;  next  to  me,  you  are  his  other  sister." 

"  Did  he  ever  tell  you  so,  Effie  ?" 

"  Why  no,  not  exactly ;  but  I  know  Roland ;  he  can  never 
forget  the  kindness  of  his  little  sea-shore  friend,  or  the  sweet 
intercourse  of  childish  days ;  he  has  too  much  gratitude  for 
that.  But  Maddy,  there  is  one  thing  I  should  like — when 
I  am  gone,  you  can  write  no  more  letters  for  poor  blind 
Effie  ;  how  he  will  miss  them  !  If  you  would  only  continue 
to  write  to  him  kind,  friendly  letters,  he  would  not  miss  me 
then  quite  so  much." 

Dear  innocent  little  Effie  ! 

Madeline  blushed  even  in  the  presence  of  the  blind  girl, 
at  such  a  proposition. 

"  That  cannot  be,  Effie ;  it  would  be  highly  improper  for 
a  young  lady  to  be  writing  letters  to  a  gentleman." 

"  Pardon  me,  Madeline,  I  forgot  the  difference ;  1  see  it 
cannot  be  expected ;  it  would  be  presumptuous  in  Roland ; 


256  WOODCLIFF. 

but  still  it  would  be  so  pleasant ;  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
cannot;  just  letters  of  advice,  Maddy." 

"  I  advise  Roland !  why  Effie,  that  would  be  singular  in 
deed,  when  nearly  all  my  life  he  has  been  my  counsellor." 

"  This  is  a  strange  world,  Maddy.  I  know  that  you 
would  like  to  write ;  and  just  because  people  are  so  foolish, 
you  have  to  be  led  by  their  notions ;  Roland  is  only  like  a 
brother,  and  I  can't  see  any  harm  in  it  at  all." 

"  Dear  papa  would  not  approve  of  such  a  correspondence, 
Effie ;  and  besides,  Roland  has  never  asked  it  himself." 

"  Some  of  these  days,  Madeline,  you  will  be  thinking  of 
marriage,  or  some  one  will  think  of  it  for  you  ;  I  hope  that 
you  will  ask  Roland's  counsel,  then  ;  I  know  that  he  would 
not  like  you  to  marry  any  one  who  is  not  a  Christian." 

"  Why,  Effie,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  the 
matter;  I  am  very  happy  at  Woodcliff;  I  don't  know  any 
one  that  could  tempt  me  away  from  my  father ;  in  fact,  I 
don't  think  about  it  at  all.  Harry  Castleton  has  troubled 
me  sometimes  with  his  offers,  but  really,  I  scarcely  give  it 
a  thought,  and  least  of  all  with  him." 

But  Madeline  smiled  at  the  idea  of  asking  Roland's  ad 
vice  upon  such  a  subject. 

"Now,  Maddy,  sing  me  one  of  our  sweet  hymns." 

"  What  shall  it  be,  dear  ?" 

" '  How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord  ;'  that  is 
one  of  my  favorites." 

And  Madeline  sang  the  beautiful  words  with  touching 
pathos. 

Effie  was  not  able  to  sit  up  all  that  day,  but  continued 
in  the  same  happy,  tranquil  state  of  mind. 

Time  wore  away — gradually  Effie's  strength  declined. 

One  day,  being  a  little  stronger,  she  called  Madeline  to 
her  side,  and  said, 

"  Bring  me  the  box,  dear,  which  you  will  find  in  my 
upper  drawer,"  and  accordingly  Madeline  obeyed. 

"  I  have  none  but  you,  Miss  Matilda,  and  Roland,  Maddy, 


OUT    IN    THE   LIGHT.  257 

and  I  want  to  distribute  my  few  trifling  keepsakes,  •  before 
I  am  too  weak.  My  Bible,  my  breastpin,  with  my  mother's 
hair,  and  my  little  desk,  are  for  Roland ;  my  mourning  ring, 
the  gift  of  Miss  Matilda,  and  the  likeness,  which  you  re 
member  we  had  taken  in  New  York,  are  both  for  you;  my 
hymn-book,  my  knitting-bag  and  caba,  are  for  Miss  Ma 
tilda.  I  bought  a  little  book  for  each  of  the  servants,  when 
I  was  in  New  York;  write  my  name  in  each.  You  may 
do  what  you  please  with  my  clothes ;  I  think,  however,  it 
would  be  well  to  distribute  them  among  our  little  scholars 
—  now  I  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  earth,  but  just  to 
wait  my  Father's  will ;  when  he  is  ready,  he  will  send  for 
me." 

There  was  a  picture  of  the  Believer's  Yision  on  the  wall 
opposite  to  where  Effie  reposed,  and  as  she  lay  there  with 
folded  hands,  and  sweet  expression  of  perfect  peace,  Made 
line  had  learned  to  associate  the  two,  and  ever  after,  would 
that  touching  picture  speak  of  Effie. 

"  Madeline,  I  promised  Roland  that  I  would  send  for 
him  when  the  change  was  near  ;  I  think  that  it  will  not  be 
many  days  before  I  shall  be  out  in  the  blessed  light  of 
Heaven.  I  asked  the  Doctor,  yesterday,  and  he  told  me, 
Maddy,  that  it  might  be  a  very  short  time,  or  a  few  days, 
at  farthest ;  will  you  send  for  Roland  ?  This  is  Thursday, 
and  he  could  be  spared  better  on  Saturday  and  Sunday." 

Madeline  sent  a  few  hasty  lines,  and  on  Saturday  after 
noon  he  arrived,  pale  and  sad,  for  he  understood  the  mes- 


"  You  will  stay  with  me,  Roland,  until  all  is  over?"  was 
the  request  of  the  dying  girl. 

"I  have  made  all  my  arrangements,  and  will  not  leave 
you,  darling." 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Hamilton  alone,  Roland ;  I  have 
something  to  say  to  him  ;  will  you  tell  him,  dear  ?" 

Madeline's  father  had  learned  to  love  the  gentle  blind 
girl,  and  when  he  entered,  and  saw  the  gray  shadows  of 


253  WOODCLIFP. 

death  upon  her  countenance,  he  could  scarcely  control  his 
feelings. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you,  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  poor  blind  Effie ;  I  shall 
not  be  blind  much  longer,  for  I  am  going  out  of  the  dark 
ness  into  the  blessed  light  of  Heaven  ;  but  I  want  to  tell 
you,  that  weak  and  timid  as  I  am,  I  am  not  afraid  to  die ; 
my  trust  is  in  Jesus,  and  he  never  leaves  me,  nor  forsakes 
me.  I  love  you,  Mr.  Hamilton,  because  you  are  Madeline's 
father,  and  I  want  you  to  be  just  as  happy  as  I  am — warn 
ings  have  come  to  you,  my  good,  kind  friend,  for  these  many 
months,  and  I  want  you  to  promise  me,  dying  Effie,  that 
you  will  seek  the  Saviour,  ere  it  is  forever  too  late." 

Mr.  Hamilton  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  re 
plied, 

"I  often  feel,  Effie,  as  if  my  days  would  not  be  very 
many  in  this  world,  for  I  am  much  worse  than  Madeline 
dreams  of.  I  have  not  your  blessed  hope,  my  dear  child, 
but  I  know  that  yours  is  real,  is  divine,  and  I  promise  you, 
Effie,  to  seek  your  Saviour ;  does  that  make  you  happy  ?" 
and  Mr.  Hamilton  stooped  down  to  kiss  the  pale  cheek  of 
the  child. 

"  Happy !  yes,  Mr.  Hamilton,  I  should  be  perfectly  happy, 
if  I  could  hope  to  meet  you  all  up  there,"  and  she  pointed 
upward,  while  a  look  of  seraphic  blessedness  dwelt  upon 
her  face.  "Now,  send  Miss  Matilda." 

Miss  Matilda  had  avoided  being  alone  with  Effie,  for  she 
was  afraid  of  death. 

Thoughts  of  the  dark  grave,  the  judgment  and  eternity, 
were  all  that  she  ever  associated  with  the  subject. 

She  entered  the  room,  and  took  her  seat  by  the  couch. 

"  You  are  not  so  very  ill,  Effie ;  I  have  seen  persons 
weaker  than  you  recover."  Effie  smiled,  as  she  replied, 
"  I  have  no  fears  of  death,  Miss  Matilda ;  my  Saviour  has 
taken  them  all  away ;  I  have  no  desire  to  live,  but  for 
Roland's  sake ;  but  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  how  blessed 


OUT    IN    THE    LIGHT.  259 

is  the.  Christian's  state.  My  trust  is  all  in  my  Saviour ; 
and  he  will  not  prove  untrue  to  his  word.  You  have  been 
very  good  to  poor  orphan  Effie,  and  I  want  to  see  you 
happy.  I  know  you  are  not  happy  now  —  no  one  can  be 
who  does  not  love  God  best  of  all ;  you  will  not  be  offended 
at  me,  Miss  Matilda,  for  I  shall  soon  be  gone ;  but  I  want 
you  to  seek  the  Saviour." 

"  I  am  a  member  of  the  church,  Effie  ;  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean,  exactly." 

"  I  mean,  dear  Miss  Matilda,  that  I  want  you  to  have 
real  heart  faith  in  Jesus  ;  faith  that  makes  you  love  him, 
trust  him,  follow  him  as  your  best  friend." 

"  Effie,  I  do  believe  in  him,  but  not  as  you  do." 

"  That  is  what  I  mean,  Miss  Matilda ;  I  don't  mean  just 
to  be  a  member  of  the  church,  and  no  more  ;  that  is  not 
all ;  I  want  you  to  be  a  member  of  Christ  himself,  and  that 
is  by  faith." 

"'Tis  like  Heaven  below, 
My  Redeemer  to  know, 

The  angels  can  do  nothing  more, 
Than  to  sit  at  his  feet 
And  the  story  repeat, 

And  the  dear  friend  of  sinners  adore." 

Miss  Matilda  sat  bathed  in  tears,  for  she  had  a  warm 
affectionate  heart,  and  could  not  but  love  the  little  lamb 
who  was  pleading  so  sweetly  the  cause  of  her  Master. 

She  took  the  pale  and  withered  hand,  and  replied,  "  Effie, 
there  is  something  about  this,  different  from  all  that  I  have 
ever  seen;  death  always  seemed  so  terrible  to  me." 

"It  is  only  terrible  where  sin  is  not  pardoned ;  ' the 
sting  of  death  is  sin.'  Jesus  has  borne  it  all  for  me,  and 
to  me  there  is  no  sting,  nor  any  fear  of  the  grave,  because 
he  has  lain  there,  and  blessed  it,  Miss  Matilda." 

"Would  that  I  had  such  a  trust  as  this,"  and  she  kissed 
the  dear  child,  and  left  the  room.  Sweet  was  the  commu 
nion  between  Effie  and  her  brother.  Roland's  strong 


260  WOODCLIFF. 

faith,  and  scriptural  knowledge  made  him  a  most  valuable 
treasure  to  the  feeble  girl,  for  as  the  dying  hour  ap 
proached,  she  had  some  experience  of  the  conflict  between 
the  soul  and  body,  and  some  slight  cloud  of  darkness  in 
her  hour  of  weakness;  but  Roland  sat  by  her,  watching 
each  change,  praying,  soothing,  repeating  words  of  Scrip 
ture,  and  the  hour  of  temptation  passed. 

"  Out  in  the  light,  dear  brother ;  so  soon  at  home  with 
Jesus.  Read  from  the  Revelations,  Roland;"  and  in  a 
deep,  rich  voice,  he  read, 

"  'And  there  shall  be  no  more  curse ;  but  the  throne  of 
God  and  the  Lamb  shall  be  in  it;  and  his  servants  shall 
serve  him :  And  they  shall  see  his  face ;  and  his  name  shall 
be  in  their  foreheads.  And  there  shall  be  no  night  there ; 
and  they  need  no  candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun ;  for  the 
Lord  God  giveth  them  light ;  and  they  shall  reign  forever 
and  ever.'" 

"  'And  there  shall  be  no  night  there,'  Roland,  '  but  one 
eternal,  glorious  day ;'  come,  Madeline,  one  more  kiss,  one 
more,  Roland,"  and  Effie  clasped  her  dying  arms  around 
both  as  she  whispered,  "Love  the  Saviour,  love  Roland 
as  I  have  loved  him,  Madeline,  love  each  other,  and  we 
shall  meet  in  Heaven." 

They  arose  from  that  cold  embrace,  and  as  Effie  lay  back 
upon  her  pillow,  softly,  gently  the  sweet  spirit  departed ; 
and  when  Madeline  saw  that  she  had  gone,  forgetting  all 
ceremony,  she  took  Roland's  arm,  and  led  him  out  into  the 
garden,  for  Effie  had  departed  in  Madeline's  sitting-room. 
He  walked  mechanically  to  an  arbor,  with  Madeline  by  his 
side.  One  burst  of  manly  grief  rent  his  bosom,  for  dearly 
had  he  loved  his  gentle  sister,  and  he  felt  now  that  he  was 
indeed  alone.  Almost  unconscious  of  the  act,  she  leaned 
her  head  upon  Roland's  shoulder,  and  whispered, 

"Not  alone,  Roland;  I  will  take  Effie's  place." 

"  You  cannot,  you  cannot,  Madeline ;  not  Effie's,"  and 
ere  he  was  aware,  he  passed  his  arm  around  her  waist,  but 


OUT    IN    THE    LIGHT.  261 

as  instantly  released  her,  as  he  continued  pacing  up  and 
down  the  arbor ;  "  you  cannot  be  my  sister,  Madeline ;  I 
must  be  gone  from  here,  and  then  I  shall  indeed  be  all 
alone." 

Madeline  scarcely  knew  what  to  think  of  his  conduct ; 
if  it  was  intended  as  a  casting  off  her  sisterly  love,  she  was 
indeed  mistaken  in  him ;  but  that  she  could  not  believe — 
what  then  could  he  mean  ? 

What  was  Roland's  surprise  in  the  evening  of  Effie's 
death  to  be  called  out  to  see  a  woman  in  the  entry,  and 
who  should  present  herself  but  Elsie  Gibson  !  They  had 
not  seen  her  for  many  months. 

"  Weel,  Roland,  ye  hae  lost  anither — what  ailed  the  puir 
bairn?" 

"  Consumption  at  last,  Elsie,  and  she  had  been  blind  for 
months  before  she  died." 

"  She  is  at  rest,  Roland — but  may  I  see  her  remains  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Elsie,"  and  the  brother  took  the  old  woman 
into  the  room  where  Effie  lay. 

"  Will  ye  gi'  me  a  lock  o'  her  hair,  Roland  ?  I  had  a  lock 
o'  your  mother's,  and  I  want  this  for  the  same  person." 

"  For  whom,  Elsie  ?"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"For  ane  that  has  a  right,  Roland,  ye'll  ken  some  day," 
and  Elsie  was  allowed  to  cut  a  lock  of  fair  hair,  and  folding 
it  carefully  in  paper,  she  placed  it  in  her  pocket. 

Roland  remained  until  the  day  of  interment;  and  accom 
panied  by  the  members  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  family,  and  the 
children  whom  she  had  taught,  he  laid  the  dear  remains 
by  the  side  of  her  mother,  to  await  the  morning  of  the  re 
surrection. 

Nothing  further  detained  him  at  Woodcliff ;  indeed,  he 
seemed  anxious  to  be  gone. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Madeline,  for  all  your  kindness  and 
devotion  to  my  darling  sister,"  was  his  last  farewell. 

"Shall  I  see  you  again,  Mr.  Bruce?"  was  Madeline's 


262  WOODCLIFF. 

inquiry,  for  she  felt  an  inward  conviction  that  Effie's  death 
had  removed  the  last  tie  that  bound  him  to  Woodcliff. 

"  I  may,  perhaps,  come  down  to  see  about  the  grave, 
Miss  Madeline,  but  the  world  has  claims  upon  me,  and  I 
must  fulfil  them ;"  then  suddenly  changing  from  his  cold, 
constrained  manner,  to  one  of  deep  feeling,  he  seized  Ma 
deline's  hand,  and  pressing  upon  it  one  long,  fond  kiss,  he 
said, — 

"  Forgive  me,  Madeline ;  it  is  the  first,  the  last  that  I 
shall  ever  press  upon  that  hand.  I  have  had  my  warning, 
and  I  shall  never  intrude  ;  but  you  must  not  forget  me,  I 
could  not  bear  it ;  farewell !  farewell !"  and  ere  the  aston 
ished  girl  could  reply,  he  was  gone — out  of  the  door,  down 
the  avenue — out  of  sight! 

What  could  it  all  mean !  sometimes  so  cold,  then  so  im 
passioned!  How  could  she  account  for  the  conduct  so 
strange !  She  was  not  aware  that  Aunt  Matilda  had  dis 
covered  that  it  was  owing  to  Roland's  influence  that  her 
niece  had  attempted  authorship ;  nor  did  she  know  how 
much  alarmed  her  aunt  had  been  at  the  apparent  intimacy 
between  Roland  and  herself:  she  had  witnessed  also  the 
scene  in  the  arbor  on  the  day  of  Effie's  death,  and  resolved 
to  break  up  the  intercourse,  if  possible  ;  accordingly,  on  the 
evening  after  the  funeral,  Roland  was  seated  alone  in  the 
parlor,  when  Miss  Hamilton  entered. 

"  We  shall  miss  your  dear  sister,  Mr.  Bruce,  for  she  was 
a  sweet,  gentle  girl,  and  we  all  loved  her,  and  I  suppose 
that  it  will  be  a  long  while  ere  we  shall  see  you  again  ;  for 
as  Effie  is  gone,  there  is  no  longer  any  thing  to  draw  you 
to  Woodcliff.  If  circumstances  are  somewhat  different,  it 
would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  invite  you  freely  to  our 
house,  but  you  know  that  we  must  have  some  regard  for 
the  opinions  of  the  world,  and  as  Madeline  is  now  a  young 
lady,  it  would  be  the  height  of  imprudence  to  encourage 
such  an  ill-assorted  intimacy." 

Roland's  face  flushed  crimson  —  all  the  fire  of  his  natu- 


OUT    IN    THE    LIGHT.  263 

rally  proud  temper  was  aroused ;  he  bit  his  lips,  and  re 
mained  silent  for  one  minute,  then  taking  his  hat,  he  simply 
said, — 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Hamilton,  I  am  sorry  to  have  in 
truded  so  long ;  I  understand  the  gulf  between  Miss  Made 
line  and  myself  perfectly,  you  have  no  reason  to  fear.  I 
am  quite  as  proud  as  you." 

It  was  after  this  interview,  that  he  had  taken  leave  ot 
Madeline.  She  was  distressed,  but  could  not  understand 
what  all  this  seeming  inconsistency  of  conduct  meant. 

"  Brother,  I  have  been  really  concerned  at  the  intimacy 
between  Madeline  and  this  young  man,"  was  the  remark 
of  Miss  Matilda  to  Mr.  Hamilton.  "  I  have  found  out  the 
reason  why  she  wrote  that  book;  she  would  never  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Roland 
Bruce ;  he  put  it  into  her  head,  and  forsooth !  she  must 
puzzle  her  brains  to  publish  this  book ;  there  is  nothing 
that  he  has  ever  hinted,  that  she  has  not  done  ;  and  I 
actually  believe  that  Madeline  may  some  day  so  far  forget 
the  dignity  of  her  family,  as  to  stoop  to  such  a  man  as 
that." 

"  I  have  some  fears  myself,  Matilda,  for  I  observed  with 
how  much  deference  Madeline  listened  to  all  his  remarks, 
and  what  deep  sympathy  she  manifested  with  his  grief; 
and  I  do  not  wonder,  for  he  is  a  most  remarkable  young 
man." 

"Well,  I  have  put  an  end  to  it,  brother,  without  your 
help.  I  just  hinted  to  him  that  as  Effie  was  gone,  there 
would  now  be  nothing  to  call  him  to  Woodcliff;  you  should 
have  seen  the  crimson  blush  mantling  his  whole  face,  and 
the  proud  bearing  of  the  youth,  as  he  replied,  'that  he 
should  intrude  no  more.' " 

"Does  Madeline  know  any  thing  about  it,  Matilda  ?" 

"  She  does  not,  for  I  fear  to  rouse  her  spirit." 

"And  I,  too,"  was  her  father's  reply  ;  "  I  do  not  believe 
that  she  would  tolerate  this  if  she  knew  it." 


264  WOODCLTFF. 

"  She  shall  never  be  any  the  wiser,  and  Roland  is  too 
proud  to  tell  her ;  he  walked  out  of  the  parlor  like  a  prince." 

Madeline  had  another  source  of  disquietude — her  father's 
health  seemed  rapidly  declining,  and  his  spirits  very  low ; 
so  much  so,  that  his  physician  ordered  him  to  Europe,  and 
rapid  preparations  were  to  be  made,  in  order  that  they 
might  leave  America  in  the  early  autumn.  Mr.  Hamilton 
observed  Madeline's  great  depression,  for  since  Effie's 
death,  he  had  seldom  seen  her  smile ;  the  old  joyousness 
had  vanished  from  her  face,  and  the  elasticity  from  her 
step.  She  was  very  lonely  without  her  dear  young  friend, 
and  the  hours  spent  in  her  sitting-room  so  much  alone, 
were  not  calculated  to  raise  her  spirits.  Her  walks  were 
equally  lonely ;  still  she  rambled  to  the  sea-shore,  and  old 
Peter's  cabin.  In  a  short  time,  she  bad  placed  a  simple 
marble  slab  at  the  head  of  Effie's  grave,  and  planted  some 
flowers  that  she  had  loved  around  the  sacred  spot. 

One  evening  she  bent  her  footsteps  to  the  old  man's 
cabin. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Madeline,  for  Master  Ro 
land  was  here  last  Monday,  and  left  this  little  note  if  you 
should  call ;''  and  he  handed  her  a  small  slip  of  paper,  on 
which  wras  written,  "A  thousand  thanks  for  the  sweet  me 
mento  over  my  sister's  grave  ;  I  know  whose  hand  placed 
it  there  ;  the  one  whose  friendship  has  never  failed  us,  and 
who  never  can  be  forgotten.  I  hear  that  you  are  going  to 
Europe ;  may  God  preserve  and  bless  you  with  his  guiding 
band  and  sustaining  grace,  prays  now  and  always,  Ro 
land." 

Madeline  read  the  little  note  with  tears. 

"  When  was  he  here,  Uncle  Peter  ?"  was  her  first  ques 
tion. 

"  On  Monday  last ;  he  came  to  see  about  his  sister's  grave, 
but  found  everything  done  before  he  got  here.  You  ought 
to  have  seen  him,  Miss  Madeline,  when  he  came  back  from 
the  grave  ;  he  sat  down  there,"  pointing  to  a  broken  chair, 


OUT    IN    THE    LIGHT.  265 

"  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  he  sobbed  and  wept 
so  bitterly.  When  a  man  cries  so  hard,  I  know  there  must 
be  some  great  sorrow."  • 

"  What  else  did  he  say,  Uncle  Peter  ?" 

"  He  asked  about  you,  Miss  Madeline, — how  you  were, 
when  you  were  here,  how  you  looked,  and  if  you  ever 
spoke  of  him.  He  then  asked  about  Mr.  Hamilton.  I 
told  him  how  sick  he  was  ;  he  seemed  so  very  sorry,  but  he 
did  not  say  one  word  about  Miss  Matilda.  I  asked  him 
if  he  was  not  going  up  to  the  Hall ;  but  he  said,  '  No,  Effie 
was  gone,  and  there  was  nothing  to  call  him  there  now.' 
Then  he  asked  when  you  were  going  to  Europe.  I  said, 
'  in  about  two  weeks ;'  is  that  correct  ?" 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Peter,  if  we  can  get  ready  for  the  steamer. 
Was  that  all  he  said  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  was  all ;  and  then  he  went  away,  and  I  was 
so  sorry,  for  he  seemed  so  sad  and  lonely." 

Madeline  returned  with  a  bowed  head  to  her  home  ;  it 
was  as  she  had  expected.  Roland  could  not  come  to  the 
Hall,  now  that  Effie  was  gone. 

It  was  a  comfort,  however,  to  visit  the  old  man,  and 
Madeline's  calls  were  frequent. 

One  evening,  strolling  quietly  along,  her  thoughts  were 
dwelling  sadly  on  the  past,  and  with  dread  to  the  future ; 
she  had  reached  the  spot  where  she  sat  on  the  day  that  she 
had  first  met  Roland.  For  one  minute  she  stood,  and 
wiped  away  a  silent  tear.  Then  walking  on,  with  her  eyes 
bent  upon  the  beach,  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  around 
her,  until  she  reached  the  old  man's  cabin.  What  was  her 
surprise  upon  entering  to  see  Roland  ! 

He  arose  with  a  constrained  manner,  and  said, 

"  Miss  Madeline,  I  heard  that  you  were  going  to  Europe, 
and  I  felt  that  I  must  bid  you  farewell.  I  have  been  here 
once  before,  but  without  success — when  do  you  sail  ?'' 

"In  about  a  week,  Mr.  Bruce,"  was  the  answer. 
23 


266  WOODCLIFF. 

<:  Can  I  speak  to  you  alone,  Miss  Hamilton  ?"  and  "Ro 
land  offered  his  arm,  and  led  her  to  the  old  rock,  where 
they  had  so  often  sat  in  the  careless  days  of  childhood. 

"  You  are  going  to  cross  the  wide  ocean,  Miss  Madeline ; 
will  be  introduced  into  new  scenes,  and  will  be  exposed  to 
the  blandishments  of  the  gay  metropolis  of  England — do 
not  forget  your  immortality;  do  not  forget  your  early 
friend.  I  know  that  they  will  try  to  banish  me  from  your 
memory ;  but  Madeline,  by  all  the  tenderness  of  childhood's 
days,  remember,  if  not  me,  remember  all  that  I  have  told 
you — you  cannot  know  the  loneliness  which  I  have  suffered 
ever  since  Effie's  death,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  you 
can  ever  forget  me.  I  ask  only  your  friendship,  your 
prayers.'' 

Madeline's  voice  trembled  as  she  asked, 

"Why  is  it  that  you  come  no  more  to  Woodcliff?  we 
should  be  so  glad  to  see  you." 

Roland  smiled  bitterly,  as  he  replied, 

"Perhaps  so,  Madeline;  but  I  have  good  reasons;  you 
may  know  them  some  day.  When  you  go  to  England, 
among  the  rest  of  your  visits,  do  not  forget  the  benevolent 
institutions ;  get  all  the  information  that  you  can ;  and 
when  you  return  to  America,  you  will  be  better  prepared 
to  follow  out  your  plans  for  good ;  we  shall  have  the  plea 
sure  then  of  knowing  that  although  separated,  we  are  co- 
workers  for  the  same  great  end." 

They  continued  in  such  conversation  for  some  time 
longer ;  at  length  the  shadows  of  evening  warned  them  that 
it  was  time  to  part. 

"  Farewell,  Madeline !"  and  Roland  seized  the  little  hand 
extended  so  frankly,  pressing  it  tenderly  between  both  of 
his  own. 

"  Farewell,  Roland ;  be  assured  that  I  shall  never  forget 
you,  and  when  I  say  this,  I  mean  all  that  I  say — God  bless 
you,  Roland,  forever  and  ever;  he  will  bring  you  back  to 


OUT    IN    THE    LIGHT.  267 

Woodcliff  to  bless  its  people.     I  have  never  lost  .that  faith, 
Roland." 

At  the  end  of  the  lane  which  led  to  the  shore,  they 
parted ;  and  as  Madeline  walked  slowly  up  the  road  that 
led  to  the  gate  of  her  own  home,  turning  back,  she  still 
saw  Roland  gazing  after  her,  and  waving  his  hand,  as  she 
vanished  up  the  avenue 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SEARCHING    FOR   SCOTTISH    FRIENDS. 

"AND  now  for  earnest  working/'  thought  Roland,  as  he 
turned  wearily  away  from  the  one  cherished  spot ;  it  is  a 
hard  trial  to  part  from  such  a  friend,  but  it  is  evidently  my 
Father's  will,  that  alone  I  must  still  pursue  my  way;  I 
must  not  indulge  in  vain  regrets,  but  '  Looking  aloft,'  I  will 
endeavor  to  do  whatsoever  my  hand  findefh  to  do  with 
diligence  and  single-hearted  devotion."  Day  by  day,  Ro 
land  gathered  the  heavenly  manna,  and  drank  of  the  spiritual 
rock  ;  thus  strengthened,  he  returned  with  renewed  zeal  to 
the  duties  of  his  daily  life. 

"  Whither  so  fast,  my  friend  ?"  cried  a  familiar  voice,  as 
he  was  threading  his  way  along  the  busy  streets  of  New 
York.  Turning  quickly,  he  perceived  his  college  friend, 
Edmund  Norris.  Grasping  Roland's  hand,  he  said, 

"  You  are  the  very  one  that  I  want  to  see ;  I  am  going 
to  Europe,  and  must  have  a  companion  ;  my  mother  will 
hear  of  none  but  you,  Roland  ;  come,  old  fellow !  just  say 
that  you  will  go  ;  I  will  bear  your  expenses,  and  we  shall 
have  a  grand  time  together." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  absent,  Edmund  ?" 

"About  one  year;  perhaps  longer." 

"  What  is  your  plan  ?" 

"  I  propose  visiting  the  continent,  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland;  my  mother  is  not  willing  to  trust  her  wild  son 
with  any  one  else;  when  will  you  give  me  an  answer, 
Roland  ?" 

(268) 


SEARCHING    FOR    SCOTTISH    FRIENDS.  269 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  will  call  at  my  office,  No.  12,  Beek- 
man  street." 

This  offer  seemed  most  opportune.  He  had  no  domestic 
tie  to  keep  him  in  America,  and  here  was  the  opportunity 
which  he  had  so  long  desired,  to  visit  his  native  land,  and 
search  for  his  relations,  if  any  he  had  left. 

"  I  will  go,  Edmund,"  was  his  reply ;  "  when  shall  we 
sail?" 

"  In  the  first  steamer ;  I  wish  to  be  there  early  in  the 
fall." 

"  I  shall  be  ready,  Edmund ;  I  can  leave  my  business  in 
the  hands  of  a  young  man  in  my  office." 

The  Thornlys  were  especially  sorry  to  lose  the  young 
inmate ;  and  Helen's  pale  cheek  and  depressed  splits  be 
trayed  the  interest  which  she  felt  in  the  young  man. 

"  You  will  write  to  Edgar,  Mr.  Bruce,  I  hope,"  was  her 
last  injunction.  "  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  should 
meet  Miss  Hamilton  abroad,  for  they  have  all  gone  for  her 
father's  health,  to  consult  London  physicians." 

"Farewell,  Miss  Helen,  I  shall  always  be  grateful  for 
your  kindness." 

Roland  did  not  see  the  tear  which  trembled  on  her  cheek, 
as  she  turned  away  to  hide  her  emotion. 

When  he  reached  the  vessel,  a  handsome  dressing-case, 
a  sea  wrapper,  slippers,  and  cap,  with  the  kind  regards  of 
Mr.  Thornly,  awaited  him,  with  the  label,  "A  small  ac 
knowledgment  of  benefits  conferred  upon  Edgar,  by  his 
grateful  father." 

A  swift  passage  across  the  Atlantic,  in  very  fine  weather, 
brought  them  to  their  desired  haven.  It  had  been  keenly 
enjoyed  by  Roland,  for  the  sight  of  the  wide  expanse  of 
ocean  was  exhilarating  to  a  soul  like  his.  When  first  espy 
ing  the  white  cliffs  of  Dover,  he  mentally  asked,  "  shall  I 
find  any  kindred  in  my  native  land,  or  am  I  still  to  wander 
alone  in  this  wide  world  ?  Be  that  as  my  Father  wills ;  I 
23* 


270  WOODCLIFF. 

have   kindred   there,"  looking   upward,   "  they   await   my 
coming  " 

He  was  so  young  when  he  first  left  Scotland,  that  much 
of  the  impression  had  vanished,  and  the  present,  therefore, 
had  all  the  charm  of  novelty. 

Taking  a  steamer,  they  crossed  the  Channel,  and  after  a 
short  journey  on  land,  found  themselves  among  the  crowds 
of  Paris,  wending  their  way  alone,  in  search  of  lodgings. 

Taking  rooms  together,  they  soon  realized  that  their  sur 
roundings  were  totally  different  from  America  ;  and  curi 
osity  for  a  few  days  kept  them  busy  visiting  the  lions  of  the 
brilliant  city,  and  making  themselves  acquainted  with  its 
numerous  works  of  art,  and  countless  attractions. 

As  «Don  as  Edmund  became  a  little  domesticated,  Ro 
land  took  tickets  for  their  attendance  upon  a  course  of  sci 
entific  lectures,  in  one  of  the  best  institutions  of  the  great 
city. 

It  was  an  important  advantage  to  study  with  such  a 
friend ;  for  Roland's  comprehensive  mind,  and  clear  intel 
lect  took  in  all  that  was  demonstrated,  and  many  a  maze 
of  perplexed  reasoning  was  made  clear  to  Edmund  by  the 
keen  analysis  of  Roland's  superior  powers. 

"  You  must  not  expect  me  to  visit  the  vicious  amuse 
ments  of  Paris,  Edmund,  my  principles  forbid  this ;  but,  if 
you  must  see  all,  Mr.  Lisle,  a  young  American,  of  fine 
moral  character,  is  here,  and  will  escort  you;  he  is  a  safe 
guide ;  I  hope  that  you  will  see  the  real  tendency  of  sinful 
pleasures,  and  learn  to  value  something  higher." 

"  Just  let  me  tell  you,  Roland,  about  the  opera,"  said  Ed 
mund,  one  night,  after  his  return,  "it  was  splendid;  the 
music  was  enchanting,  the  Emperor  and  Empress  were 
both  present  —  what  a  cold,  dead,  statuesque  face  he  has  ! 
That  beautiful  woman  cannot  love  him,  I  am  sure;  you 
should  see  Eugenie,  she  is  truly  an  elegant  woman,  and  her 
dress  was  perfect.  I  don't  believe  that  there  is  much  love 
for  the  Emperor  here,  for,  although  the  audience  noticed 


SEARCHING    FOE    SCOTTISH    FRIENDS.  2T1 

his  presence,  by  a  '  Yive  1'Empereur,'  there  was  no  heart 
in  it." 

"  You  only  saw  the  outside  of  the  opera,  Edmund ;  you 
did  not  follow  the  multitude  who  crowd  gambling  saloons, 
and  other  vicious  places  of  resort  after  the  opera  was  over. 
I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  escorted  there  by  any  of  these 
gay  young  Frenchmen ;  while  I  feel  as  if  I  have  no  right 
to  put  actual  restrictions  upon  your  liberty,  I  trust  that  you 
will  promise  me  one  thing,  Edmund." 

"  What  is  that,  Roland  ?  You  are  so  reasonable  with 
me,  so  considerate,  that  I  think  I  may  safely  promise." 

"  You  will  find  that  there  is  no  Sabbath  in  Paris ;  that  is, 
no  Christian  Sabbath ;  people  attend  to  business  and  seek 
their  pleasure  more  on  that  day  than  on  any  other.  I  want 
you  to  promise  that  you  will  attend  upon  the  Evangelical 
Chapel  on  Sunday,  and  avoid  the  places  of  public  amuse 
ment." 

"  I  can  easily  promise  that,  Roland,  for  I  feel  shocked 
myself  at  what  I  see." 

It  was  a  refreshing  season  to  Roland,  when  he  could  turn 
aside  from  the  gay  glittering  world  around  him,  and  wor 
ship  his  God  with  many  of  the  wise  and  good  of  all  Protes 
tant  churches.  Sometimes  American  ministers  led  the  de 
votions  of  the  day,  and  he  could  then  join  in  the  familiar 
hymns  of  his  childhood  and  youth,  even  in  the  midst  of  an 
infidel  and  dissolute  capital. 

"  Who  is  that  young  man  ?"  said  Dr.  M.  to  Henry  Lisle, 
"  I  have  observed  his  devotional  aspect ;  I  think  he  is  a 
stranger;  I  really  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  make  his 
acquaintance. "  ^ 

"  That  is  a  young  Scotchman  ;  he  has  lived  most  of  his 
life  in  America,  and  is  here  with  a  friend,  whose  studies 
he  is  directing." 

"Do  you  know  him,  Lisle?  if  so,  introduce  me." 

After  the  services,  Dr.  M.  was  made  acquainted  with 


272  WOODCLIFP. 

Roland,  and  he  began  to  feel  not  quite  so  much  alone  in  the 
great  world. 

At  the  rooms  of  Dr.  M.  he  was  privileged  to  meet  what 
was  really  the  choice  society  of  Paris.  The  good  and  wise 
frequently  assembled  at  his  apartments,  and  Roland  and 
Edmund  were,  at  all  times,  welcome  guests. 

Dr.  M.  had  heard  from  Edmund  something  of  his  his 
tory,  and  having  struggled  himself  in  his  early  days,  deeply 
sympathized  with  the  brave  young  spirit  of  Roland  Bruce. 
Sometimes,  they  were  invited  to  the  saloons  of  French 
philosophers,  but  the  skeptical  spirit,  everywhere  mani 
fested,  led  Roland  to  be  very  careful  how  he  exposed  his 
young  friend  to  such  influences. 

The  halls  of  art  were  crowded  with  the  finest  specimens 
of  distinguished  artists,  both  of  ancient  and  modern  days ; 
and  our  young  friends  spent  many  hours  in  examining  these 
wondrous  triumphs  of  human  skill.  The  winter  passed 
rapidly ;  early  in  the  spring,  they  visited  Switzerland,  ex 
plored  its  natural  beauties,  passed  through  Germany,  sailed 
upon  the  Rhine,  and  recrossing  the  Channel,  found  them 
selves  in  London,  at  the  opening  of  the  gay  season. 

Roland  was  pleased  at  the  improvement  manifested  in 
Edmund ;  he  was  learning  to  distinguish  between  the  good 
and  the  vile,  and  his  friend  felt  as  if  he  might  trust  him 
while  in  London,  without  his  supervision,  which  he  knew  he 
must  do,  when  he  should  visit  Scotland,  or  else  leave  him 
in  one  of  the  Scottish  cities.  Roland  busied  himself  for 
awhile  in  seeing  the  sights  of  London,  and  in  visiting  the 
ragged  schools,  and  other  benevolent  institutions,  by  which 
he  gained  many  valuable  hints  from  those  so  much  longer 
engaged  in  such  good  works. 

Taking  up  the  paper  one  morning,  he  read  a  glaring 
account  of  a  drawing-room,  when  the  Queen  of  England 
gave  one  of  her  receptions. 

A  rapturous  description  was  given  of  the  first  appearance 
of  Miss  Hamilton,  a  young  American.  Her  beauty,  her 


SEARCHING    FOR    SCOTTISH    FRIENDS.  273 

grace,  her  manners  were  descanted  upon.  The  perfect  ease 
of  her  deportment,  as  she  advanced  under  the  escort  of  the 
American  Minister,  was  described ;  and  a  brilliant  season 
prophesied  for  the  young  heiress  of  Woodcliff.  She  was 
particularly  distinguished  by  the  Queen,  who,  contrary  to 
her  general  practice,  made  some  especial  remarks  to  her 
about  her  country.  Madeline's  blushing  acknowledgment 
of  Her  Majesty's  notice  was  much  enlarged  upon. 

Roland  read  the  account  with  mingled  feelings  ;  but  pain 
was  uppermost,  for  he  feared  that  the  very  novelty  of  the 
scene  would  insensibly  draw  her  heart  away  from  better 
things. 

Edmund  having  brought  letters  of  introduction  was  pre 
sented  on  the  same  day.  He  came  home  to  Roland  in 
ecstacies  of  delight. 

"You  should  have  seen  the  blaze  of  English  beauty;  but 
it  was  nothing  compared  to  the  young  American,  Miss 
Hamilton ;  theirs  was  rich,  blooming,  rosy,  the  glow  of  full 
redundant  health,  and  the  grace  and  ease  of  high  birth ; 
hers  was  spiritual!  delicate!  bewitching!  none  could  tell 
which  was  the  most  beautiful ;  hair,  eyes,  coloring,  or  ex 
pression,  but  one  exquisite  combination  of  all  that  can 
attract  in  woman.  Then  her  ease,  her  simplicity,  her  ap 
parent  unconsciousness,  was  the  theme  of  every  tongue. 
Her  dress  was  perfect;  her  pure  white  lace,  with  moss- 
rose  buds,  and  a  set  of  pearls,  softened  still  more  her  deli 
cate  beauty  ;  she  managed  her  train,  Roland,  as  if  she  had 
dwelt  in  the  presence  of  royalty  all  her  life,  stepping  back 
ward  so  gracefully,  I  could  imagine  the  pretty  little  foot,  by 
the  beautiful  hand  and  arm.  I  declare,  Roland,  I  was 
proud  of  our  young  American.  I'll  warrant  she  has  a 
royal  nature,  royal  in  its  highest  sense ;  you  ought  to  have 
seen  her,  Roland.  I  waited  until  the  drawing-room  was 
dismissed,  and  stood  at  the  door,  to  see  her  handed  to  her 

carriage  by  Lord  N ,  an  elegant  young  nobleman ;  did 

not  I  envy  the  fellow,  Roland?      I'll  find  out  where  she 


274  WOODCLIFF. 

stays,  and,  mark  me !  I'll  have  an  introduction  before  the 
month  is  over.'' 

Roland  was  amused  at  Edmund's  enthusiasm,  and  trou 
ble^  at  the  account  of  the  impression  made  in  the  world  of 
fashion  by  his  peerless  young  friend. 

"  In  the  gay  metropolis,  with  all  her  attractions,  will  she 
be  kept  unscathed  ?"  whispered  Roland  to  his  heart.  "  Look 
ing  aloft"  for  her,  as  well  as  for  himself,  he  felt  the  blessed 
ness  of  remembering  her  in  his  daily  prayers,  and  never  was 
Madeline  forgotten. 

Edmund  frequently  alluded  to  his  want  of  success  in  ob 
taining  Miss  Hamilton's  direction,  but  one  day,  he  came  in 

full  of  glee  :  "  Lisle  is  here,  Roland ;  he  knows  Lord  N , 

and  he  will  inquire  of  him  for  Miss  Hamilton  ;  he  has  letters 
of  introduction  to  some  of  the  nobles  of  England,  and  is  as 
much  interested  as  I  in  trying  to  find  out  where  she  is. 

The  Duke  of  D will  give  a  ball  next  week, .Lisle  is 

invited ;  he  will  get  an  introduction  for  me  before  that  time, 
and  I  shall  then  meet  Miss  Hamilton." 

Edmund  seemed  possessed  with  this  one  idea  of  obtaining 
an  introduction  to  the  reigning  star. 

''Congratulate  me,  Roland;  the  Duke  of  D called 

yesterday  on  Lisle  while  I  was  there ;  I  was  introduced  as 
Lisle's  young  American  friend,  and  to-day  I  have  a  card  for 
the  ball." 

Nothing  else  was  talked  of  but  the  coming  ball.  Ed 
mund's  head  was  full  of  the  anticipated  pleasure. 

The  evening  came  and  passed.  Next  day,  Edmund  was 
in  a  high  state  of  excitement. 

"  I  was  introduced,  Roland,  to  Miss  Hamilton,  but  that 
was  all,  I  could  get  no  nearer ;  she  was  surrounded  by  ad 
mirers — the  Duke  of  D ,  and  the  Earl  of  M ,  Lord 

B ,  and  Lord  G ,  but  most  of  all,  Lord  N ,  were 

devoted  in  their  attentions.    If  her  young  head  is  not  turned 

by  all  this,  I  shall  proclaim  her  a  wonder.     Lord  N is 

a  handsome  young  nobleman,  with  that  respectful  deference 


SEARCHING    FOR    SCOTTISH    FRIENDS.  275 

to  ladies,  and  especially  to  Miss  Hamilton,  which  I  think 
would  captivate  such  a  girl." 

Roland  was  compelled  to  listen  silently,  for  he  had  not 
told  Edmund  that  he  had  ever  seen  Madeline ;  but  every 
word  was  painful,  for  he  felt  the  ordeal  to  be  so  severe  — 
would  she  come  out  unharmed  ? 

"  I  went  last  night  to  the  opera,  Roland ;  Miss  Hamilton 

was  there,  attended  by  her  father  #nd  Lord  N .  Mr. 

Hamilton  looked  so  proud  of  his  beautiful  daughter,  and  no 
wonder;  nothing  to  compare  to  her  could  be  seen  any 
where  last  night ;  eye-glasses  were  levelled  at  her  from  all 
quarters,  but  I  really  don't  believe  that  she  knew  it,  and,  if 
she  did,  she  certainly  did  not  betray  it." 

Roland  attended  weekly  upon  the  services  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  B ,  a  minister  of  the  establishment,  simply  on  ac 
count  of  the  earnest  spirituality  of  his  preaching. 

On  the  next  Sunday,  whom  should  he  see  advancing  up 
the  aisle,  in  a  simple  modest  dress,  with  a  close  bonnet  and 
veil,  but  Madeline,  attended  by  her  father  and  aunt. 

Several  pew-doors  were  opened,  but  the  sexton  led  them 
forward  to  a  pew,  where  sat  a  young  lady  and  gentleman  of 
high  rank. 

"  That  is  Lord  N ,"  whispered  Edmund  to  Roland, 

for  he  had  observed  the  party. 

Madeline  was  earnest,  devout,  prayerful,  and  listened  to 
the  sermon  with  such  an  humble,  serious  manner,  as  to  lead 
Roland  to  hope  that  she  was  yet  the  simple,  earnest  child 
of  Woodcliff.  Lord  N and  his  sister  were  equally  de 
vout,  and  Roland  felt  that  the  deportment  of  the  young 
man  in  church  was  just  such  as  was  calculated  to  please 
one  like  Madeline. 

It  was  pleasant  to  worship  God  in  the  same  house  with 
his  friend,  to  sing  the  same  hymns,  and  use  the  solemn 
words  of  the  same  beautiful  service.  The  service  ended, 
Roland  paused  a  moment  at  the  door,  hoping  to  receive  one 
passing  glance,  but  Madeline  walked  out,  closely  attended 


276  wocvncLiFF. 

by  Lord  N ,  who  handed  the  party  to  their  carriage,  ere 

he  entered  his  own ;  she  did  not  even  see  Roland.  His 
heart  sank,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  think  himself  forgotten. 

Edmund  still  continued  to  rave  about  Madeline,  telling 
whenever  he  met  her,  and  running  on  in  the  same  strain 
about  her  beauty. 

The  next  Sunday,  Roland  bent  his  steps  to  the  Ragged 
School  in  one  of  the  lanes  of  London. 

When  he  entered,  he  was  surprised  to  see  several  ladies 
of  rank  in  the  audience.  It  was  a  novel  sight,  for  there 
were  large  numbers  present  from  the  very  lowest  haunts, 
clothed  in  rags  and  filth,  even  up  to  those  who  had  adopted 
some  of  the  customs  of  civilized  humanity. 

Far  up  the  room,  he  thought  that  he  saw  a  familiar  form ; 

he  advanced,  and  attended  by  Lord  N and  his  sister, 

sat  Madeline,  in  all  the  sweet  simplicity  of  her  girlish  days. 

She  saw  Roland,  a  bright  *smile  welcomed  him,  and  he 
stepped  forward  extending  his  hand,  his  honest,  strong, 
guiding  hand ;  the  very  touch  was  strength  to  Madeline. 
No  more  salutations  were  exchanged  until  the  close  of  the 
services. 

"How  came  you  here,  Miss  Madeline?"  was  the  first 
question. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  to  visit  such  places  when  I  came 
to  London,  Mr.  Bruce  ?"  was  the  frank,  artless  answer. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Madeline  for  the  remembrance ;  have 
you  learned  anything  by  your  visits  ?'' 

"A  great  deal,  for  Lord  N and  Lady  Alice  are  both 

interested  in  these  good  works,  and  they  have  -told  me 
the  various  ways  by  which  these  poor  creatures  may  be 
reached." 

"  London  and  its  gayeties  have  not  then  wholly  obliter 
ated  your  desires  to  do  good,  Miss  Madeline." 

"  By  no  means,  Mr.  Bruce,"  replied  Madeline,  with  one 
of  her  brightest  smiles ;  "  I  am  only  anxious  to  be  once 
more  at  Woodcliff  to  put  some  of  my  plans  into  practice." 


SEARCHING    FOE    SCOTTISH    FRIENDS.  217 

"  Hew  is  Mr.  Hamilton,  Miss  Madeline  ?" 

"  Rather  better ;  we  see  that  London  air  agrees  with 
him,  and  shall,  therefore,  stay  longer  in  England  than  we 
had  at  first  intended." 

This  was  a  short,  but  pleasant  interview,' and  Roland 
felt  cheered  by  the  few  hasty  words  dropped  by  Madeline. 

Passing  through  the  streets  of  London  one  day,  he  ob 
served  Madeline  in  a  carriage  with  the  lady  whom  she 
styled  Lady  Alice — it  was  evidently  a  nobleman's  carriage 
by  the  coronet  on  the  pannels.  He  sighed  as  he  thought 
of  the  great  distance  between  them  socially,  but  could  not 
resist  the  opportunity  of  watching  the  carriage,  which 
stopped  at  the  door  of  a  store ;  the  ladies  dismounted,  and 
entered  the  store ;  waiting  for  them  to  return  to  the  car 
riage,  Roland  inquired  whose  carriage  it  was,  and  the  direc 
tion  of  their  residence.  Having  obtained  information,  he 
walked  to  the  spot,  and  saw  the  elegant  mansion  where 
Madeline  was  staying — what  folly !  thought  he,  to  suppose 
that  she  can  ever  regard  me  in  any  other  light  than  an 
humble  friend ;  but  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  her.  He  had  not 
stood  many  minutes,  ere  he  perceived  a  lady's  form  stand- 
ing  near  the  drawing-room  window ;  she  looked  out,  but 
not  observing  Roland,  who  stood  concealed  behind  a  tree. 

Soon  he  heard  voices,  for  the  window  was  open ;  and  in 
a  few  minutes  more,  ±he  rich  melody  of  Madeline's  notes, 
singing  a  new  and  brilliant  piece.  He  stood  sorrowfully, 
for  why  should  he  thus  haunt  her  dwelling  to  hang  upon  a 
voice,  which  the  friendship  of  early  days  had  given  him  a 
right  to  hear  still  in  the  intimate  communion  of  a  congenial 
spirit.  It  seemed  a  cold  barrier  of  society  which  thus  shut 
him  out,  and  which  he  sometimes  felt  he  must  dare  to 
batter  down. 

The  season  was  passing  rapidly ;  and  Roland  began  to 
prepare  for  his  northern  tour.     Edmund  had  concluded  to 
accompany  him,  for  he  had  not  made  the  progress  in  Made 
line's  acquaintance  that  he  desired. 
24 


278  WOODCLIFF. 

His  journey  through  England  was  truly  delightful — like 
a  beautiful  garden,  every  corner  was  highly  cultivated ; 
gentlemen's  country  seats,  noblemen's  splendid  palaces  and 
.parks,  picturesque  villages,  and  shady,  green  lanes  every 
where  met  his  eye,  and  though  unlike  the  grand  features 
of  American  scenery,  the  panorama  had  all  the  charm  of  a 
lovely  picture  of  domestic  ease  and  elegance,  the  charm 
which  dwells  so  especially  among  English  homes.  Stop 
ping  awhile  at  the  Lakes  of  Westmoreland,  they  explored 
its  exquisite  beauties,  so  often  the  subject  of  the  painter's 
pencil,  and  the  poet's  pen  ;  and  passing  on,  travelled  more 
rapidly,  until  they  reached  Edinburgh ;  visiting  many  spots 
of  historic  interest.  Roland  stayed  a  few  days,  and  then 
turned  his  face  towards  his  native  hills,  leaving  Edmund 
in  Edinburgh,  until  he  should  hear  from  him 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN. 

NOVEMBER,  with  its  chilly  winds,  finds  Roland  a  traveller 
in  Scotland.  He  has  the  directions  given  by  his  mother, 
and  has  to  cross  a  mountain  region  in  a  stage,  ere  he 
reaches  his  native  village.  It  is  a  lonely  journey,  for  he  is 
the  only  passenger;  and  a  heavy  Scotch  mist  is  rapidly 
falling  over  the  dreary  landscape  ;  distant  mountains  are 
first  enveloped,  then  trees  and  bushes,  and  last  even  the 
scattered  houses  along  the  road-side,  until  all  is  darkness 
and  gloom. 

He  had  heard  of  a  Scotch  mist,  but  could  never  have 
conceived  of  anything  so  murky,  so  dense,  and  yet  behind 
it  all  was  the  bright  and  cheering  sun.  So  is  the  experience 
of  human  life,  often  enveloped  in  heavy  clouds,  shrouded 
in  darkness ;  yet  beyond,  God  our  Father  sits  guiding  the 
changes  of  our  destiny. 

Evening  approached  —  no  human  beings  could  be  seen; 
and  nothing  disturbed  the  solitude,  save  the  muffled  lowing 
of  the  cattle  through  the  heavy  atmosphere,  the  bleating 
of  sheep,  and  the  faint  tinkling  of  the  bells  which  they 
wear  to  direct  their  guides. 

No  signs  betokened  their  approach  to  human  habitations  ; 
as  yet  no  beacon  pointed  to  his  native  village,  and  there 
may  be  no  voice  of  kindred  to  welcome  him  to  his  mother's 
home.  So  impenetrable  was  the  darkness,  that  the  stage 
stopped  for  the  night.  It  was  a  gloomy  period  in  Roland's 
roung  life — but  never  did  the  brave  spirit  forget  his  motto  ; 

(279) 


280  WOODCLIFF. 

'•'Looking  aloft!"  through  mist,  through  clouds  and  dark 
ness,  he  slept  the  blessed  rest  of  perfect  trust.  He  woke 
in  the  morning  to  see  the  first  bright  rays  of  the  rising  sun 
beaming  through  his  shutters ;  opening  them,  Roland  looked 
out  upon  a  scene  of  surpassing  grandeur ;  lofty  mountains 
in  the  distance,  range  after  range,  over  which  the  sun  was 
rising  in  all  his  majesty,  thick  heavy  woodland  wearing  the 
dusky  hues  of  autumn,  flocks  of  sheep  under  the  care  of 
their  guides,  here  and  there  the  shepherds'  huts,  and  over 
all,  the  bright  sunlight  flooding  the  landscape  with  his 
glory,  and  tinging  the  clouds  of  mist  with  prismatic  hues, 
as  they  rolled  away,  and  mingled  wijh  the  higher  atmo 
sphere,  leaving  the  landscape  all  revealed. 

Roland  was  cheered  by  the  sight.  "  So  may  it  it  be  at 
last  with  my  destiny,"  thought  the  youth ;  "if  I  seek  God's 
glory  in  all,  he  will  fulfil  his  promises."  After  a  hearty 
breakfast  of  hot  bannocks  and  milk,  Roland  resumed  his 
journey,  and  referred  to  the  driver  for  information  con 
cerning  the  rest  of  his  journey. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  Glendale,  driver  ?" 

"Aboot  tharty  mile  or  mair,  I  ken." 

" Do  you  know  the  family  of  the  Gordons?" 

"  Do  ye  mean  the  family  o'  the  auld  minister,  David  Gor 
don  ?"  •  ' 

"  The  same,"  was  Roland's  reply. 

"  The  auld  minister  bae  gane  to  his  rest  these  mony  years ; 
J  dinna  ken  how  lang  syne." 

"  His  son  and  daughter  ?"  continued  Roland. 

"  Baith  gane  hame." 

Roland  bowed  his  head,  for  now  he  felt  his  desolation. 

"  Is  there  no  one  there,  driver,  who  can  give  me  any  in 
formation  concerning  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  there  is  the  auld  servant,  Jennie  Scott ;  she  lives 
near  by  the  auld  manse." 

In  a  few  hours,  Roland  found  himself  approaching  his 
native  village ;  he  had  some  remembrance  of  these  familiar 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  281 

scenes ;  the  lake  where  he  had  rowed  in  his  childhood  with 
Uncle  Alick,  the  manse  with  its  grove  of  old  trees,  and 
the  kirk  not  far  off,  he  found  were  realities  that  had  their 
picture  hung  up  in  the  halls  of  memory. 

Stopping  at  the  village-inn  he  sought  out  the  old  servant. 
Knocking  at  the  cottage  door,  a  face  somewhat  familiar 
presented  itself.  "  Is  this  Jennie  Scott  ?"  asked  Roland. 

"  It  is  so,  please  your  honor ;  will  ye  sit  doon,  sir,  in  my 
humble  cottage  ?" 

"  Do  you  remember  Roland  Bruce,  the  little  son  of  Mary 
Gordon,  Jennie  ?'' 

"  Do  I  remember  the  bairn  that  I  nursed  so  lang  in  these 
auld  arms?  Can  I  e'er  forget  the  bonny  chiel?  Mine  were 
the  first  arms  that  held  him  after  he  breathed  the  breath,  o' 
life — can  ye  tell  me  ony  thing  aboot  the  lad  ?" 

"  He  stands  before  you,  Jennie,"  and  Roland  seized  the 
hand  of  his  old  nurse,  while  she  threw  herself  upon  his 
bosom,  and  wept  for  joy. 

"  It  canna'  be, — he  was  sic  a  wee  bairn  when  I  saw  him 
last,  and  now  sic  a  braw  an'  winsome  mon.  Bless  the 
Lord  !  0,  my  soul,  for  a'  his  guidness  to  his  auld  servant." 

Roland  then  told  the  old  woman  something  of  his  his 
tory,  and  what  had  brought  him  to  Scotland. 

"  Ye've  came  too  late,  my  son ;  the  auld  minister  has  been 
dead  these  ten  years.  0,  he  greeted  sair  for  ye,  my  bairn. 
Miss  Ellen  died  in  twa  years  after  that,  and  Mr.  Alick  twa 
years  ago ;  ye've  nae  mother's  kin  in  Scotland,  that  I  ken, 
Roland." 

"And  none  in  America,  my  old  friend,  my  mother  and 
sister  both  sleep  in  Jesus,  and  I  am  alone  in  the  wide 
world;  but  then,  God  is  my  Father  —  can  I  visit  the  old 
manse,  Jennie  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  bairn,  I  keep  the  key,  for  I  gang  owre  there 
every  few  weeks  to  luik  after  the  furniture,  and  to  keep  it 
a'  clean." 

"  How  is  it,  Jennie,  that  it  is  not  inhabited  ?" 
24* 


282  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Alick  ordered,  when  he  died,  that  it  sud  be 
kept  closed  for  three  years,  and  if  nane  came  to  claim  it 
then,  that  it  might  be  sold,  for  it  belanged  to  the  auld 
minister,  Roland,  and  Mr.  Alick  hoped  that  the  right  heir 
might  come  some  day." 

Jennie  led  the  way  to  the  old  homestead,  and  as  they 
advanced,  tears  would  force  themselves  into  Roland's 
eyes,  as  he  recognized  the  familiar  porch,  and  one  old  tree, 
where  he  had  so  often  played.  .  She  opened  the  shutters, 
and  let  in  the  light  of  day.  All  was  in  a  state  of  perfect 
neatness  and  order. 

The  family-parlor  was  so  comfortable,  from  which  a  glass 
door  opened  into  the  minister's  study. 

How  sacred  it  appeared!  The  study-table  where  he  had 
prepared  so  many  sermons  for  his  flock — the  old  arm-chair 
where  he  had  sat — the  couch  where  he  had  reclined  when 
weary — the  book-case,  with  its  shelves  of  devotional  books, 
and  the  best  authors  of  the  Scottish  Church ;  and  on  the 
study-table,  his  old  Bible  marked  from  the  Old  to  the  New 
Testament  by  his  own  venerable  hands.  In  a  table- 
drawer,  lay  his  spectacles,  the  inkstand  that  he  used,  and 
even  the  pen  with  which  he  wrote. 

"  Look  here,  Roland  !  at  this  carpet,"  said  Jennie,  as  she 
pointed  to  the  spot  so  worn  by  the  old  man's  knees,  for  he 
always  knelt  in  one  particular  place.  "  This  is  a  sacred 
room,  Roland,  an'  I  hae  always  been  sae  happy  to  ken 
that  nae  stranger  has  e'er  come  in  here  amang  the  auld 
minister's  books." 

From  the  study,  they  passed  into  his  mother's  room. 

There  stood  the  cradle,  and  the  rocking-chair,  in  which 
she  had  sat,  to  nurse  her  babes. 

Jennie  took  up  her  apron  to  wipe  her  old  eyes  as  she 
said, — 

"  How  mony  times  hae  I  seen  Mary  Gordon,  when  she 
thought  naebody  saw  her,  weep  owre  the  cradle,  as  she 
rocked  her  babes  to  sleep;  but  she  was  a  guid  woman. 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  283 

Roland,  an'  a  true  an'  faithful  wife.     Is  yer  father  living, 
my  son  ?'' 

"  That  is  a  hard  question  to  answer,  Jennie ;  it  has 
always  been  ^aid  that  he  was  lost  at  sea,  but  strange 
things  nu,ve  happened  to  make  me  sometimes  think  he' 
may  yet  be  alive." 

"  He  was  aye  a  sad  an'  gloomy  mon,  Roland ;  I  sud  na 
wonder  if  he  were  crazed  at  last." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  Malcolm  Graham, 
Jennie  ?  I  must  see  him  soon." 

"  He  lives  aboot  twenty  miles  frae  here,  up  on  the  side 
o'  the  mountain;  he  is  called  far  an'  nigh  'guid  Uncle 
Malcolm;'  he  only  lives  to  do  guid,  Roland;  he  has  charge 
o'  a'  your  property,  an'  can.  tell  ye  a'  that  ye  need." 

The  place  where  they  stood  was  full  of  sad  memories, 
and  the  longer  he  remained,  the  mgre  familiar  he  became. 

"  Why  here,  Jennie,  is  the  very  wheel-barrow  that  Uncle 
Alick  brought  me  all  the  way  from  Edinburgh  ;  many  a 
time  have  I  filled  it  with  pebbles,  and  emptied  them  into 
the  lake,"  and  Roland  picked  up  the  toy,  and  regarded  it 
tenderly,  even  as  an  old  friend. 

"  Let  us  go  now,  Jennie,  for  I  must  make  some  prepara 
tions  to  visit  Uncle  Malcolm." 

"  Ye  maun  gang  amang  some  o'  your  grandfather's  peo 
ple  first,  Roland ;  they  wud  be  sair  grieved  if  ye  gang  awa' 
without  seeing  them." 

"  I  will  stay  over  the  Sabbath,  Jennie,  if  you  can  keep 
me  at  your  little  cottage,  for  I  want  to  go  to  the  old  kirk, 
where  my  mother  worshipped  God." 

The  weeds  in  the  little  garden  around  the  house,  and  the 
neglected  look  of  the  grounds,  spoke  volumes  to  Roland's 
heart  of  the  dear  ones  who  had  vanished  from  the  old 
manse,  and  of  the  busy  hands  now  silent  in  the  grave. 

"What  is  that,  Jennie  ?"  said  Roland,  as  he  observed 
a  little  mound  under  an  old  tree,  \yith  a  piece  of  board  at 
the  head. 


284  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Read  the  words,  Roland,  an'  ye'll  see  what  lies  buried 
there." 

"  Here  lies  old  Shep,  the  faithful  dog ;  for  twelve  years 
he  served  his  master." 

"  I  remember  him,  Jennie ;  many  a  time  has  he  carried 
me  on  his  back." 

"  This  auld  place  is  fu'  o'  death,  Roland,  but  it  is  just  as 
fu'  o'  hope ;  for  a'  wha  hae  gane  before,  hae  died  the  death 
o'  the  righteous ;  an'  they  a'  sleep  in  the  Lord." 

Roland  spent  the  days  between  this  and  the  Sabbath  in 
rambling  about,  and  in  company  with  old  Jennie  visiting 
his  grandfather's  parishioners.  They  all  expressed  great 
joy  on  seeing  the  young  man,  and  observed  universally  the 
likeness  to  bis  father. 

"  But  he  has  nane  o'  the  gloom,"  said  the  old  sexton ; 
"  he  has  the  same  black  hair  an'  dark  e'en,  but  the  look  is 
a'  upward  an'  bright,  as  if  he  walked  wi'  his  grandfather's 
God." 

On  the  Sabbath  day,  in  company  with  old  Jennie  Scott, 
he  walked  up  the  aisle  of  the  old  kirk.  She  was  a  proud 
woman  on  that  day — for  was  not  she  walking  wi'  her  minister's 
grandson  ?  the  handsomest,  the  noblest,  an'  the  best  o'  a' 
the  young  men  around  Glencoe  ? 

He  sat  in  his  mother's  seat,  and  used  the  old  book  which 
contained  her  name.  On  the  fly-leaf  was  written — 

"  Malcolm  Graham,  sailed  on  the  first  day  of  March,  1807. 
May  God  be  with  him  to  bless  and  keep  him." 

On  another  leaf  was  written  —  "Mary  Gordon,  married 
to  Stephen  Bruce,  Oct.  1st,  1811.  May  God  bless  the  union 
with  peace." 

Roland's  tears  dropped  over  these  silent  memorials,  but  it 
was  a  blessed  thought  that  all  the  cares  and  trials  of  that 
beloved  mother  were  over  forever ;  and  as  he  now  joined 
in  the  psalms  which  she  had  often  sung  in  the  pew  of  her 
own  kirk,  so  he  hopefl  in  the  church  triumphant  to  sing 
with  her  and  Effie  the  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb. 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  285 

After  the  service,  he  visited  the  graves  of  his  kindred, 
and  with  true  delicacy,  none  of  the  plain  Scotch  people  in 
truded  upon  his  solitude,  as  he  stood  in  silence  around  the 
sacred  spot.  "  What  a  blessing  to  have  godly  ancestors !" 
thought  Roland ;  "  followed  all  my  life  by  earnest  prayer, 
God  has  shielded  and  blessed  me  thus  far  with  the  knowledge 
of  himself  as  my  reconciled  Father  in  Christ  Jesus." 

Many  were  the  warm  greetings  which  met  him  at  the 
church  gate ;  and  many  the  blessings  that  were  showered 
upon  him  by  the  people  who  loved  the  memory  of  their 
dear  old  minister. 

"  I  must  go.  Jennie,''  said  Roland,  when  Monday  morn 
ing  came.  "I  am  anxious  to  find  Uncle  Malcolm." 

"Ye  will  see  me  again  before  ye  return  to  America?'' 

"  0,  yes,  Jennie  ;  I  will  be  sure  to  return." 

It  was  a  cold,  bleak  morning,  when  he  started. 

"  I  think  we  are  going  to  hae  a  snow-storm,  Roland ;  had 
ye  na  better  wait  a  day  or  twa  ?" 

"  I  think  not,  Jennie ;  I  can  get  along  very  well ;"  and  he 
would  not  hear  of  farther  delay. 

"  I  ken  the  signs  around  these  dark  mountains,  Roland ; 
we  shall  hae  a  heavy  fa'  o'  snaw  before  nicht — the  stage 
will  only  tak'  ye  within  three  miles  o'  Malcolm's  house, 
an'  it  will  be  a  dark  journey  on  foot  in  a  snaw-storm." 

"  God  is  with  me,  Jennie  ;  I  must  go." 

"Fare  ye  weel!  my  bairn,  till  we  meet  again/'  said  the 
old  woman. 

Taking  up  his  carpet-bag,  and  seeing  his  trunk  carefully 
deposited,  he  started  on  his  journey. 

It  was  a  raw,  chilly  morning ;  he  had  provided  himself 
with  a  tartan  plaid,  and  wrapping  himself  in  its  heavy  folds, 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  stage.  The  wind  sighed  heavily  as 
though  a  storm  was  really  brewing. 

"  We  shall  hae  to  plew  through  heavy  drifts  before  we 
reach  the  end  o'  our  journey/'  said  the  driver. 

As  they  ascended  the  road,  the  animals  were  well  aware 


286  WOODCLIFF. 

of  what  was  coming ;  and  the  wild  mountain  birds  screamed 
around  them  with  foreboding  warnings. 

In  a  short  time,  the  snow  commenced  falling ;  at  first, 
skurrying  in  little  gusts  of  driving  wind,  then  more  and 
more  thickly,  until  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  heavy  moun 
tain'  storm. 

The  atmosphere  was  filled  with  the  flakes,  which,  driven 
by  fierce  winds,  drifted  on  the  side  of  the  road. 

More  and  more  difficult  became  the  travelling ;  the  poor 
jaded  horses  could  scarcely  drag  the  vehicle  through  the 
piles  of  snow. 

Stopping  for  dinner  at  a  road-side  inn,  the  landlord  looked 
out  upon  the  storm  with  a  serious  countenance. 

"It  is  a  pity,  young  mon,  that  ye  cam'  oot  in  sic  a  storm  ; 
it  will  be  fearfu'  before  nigbtfa' ;  perhaps  ye  had  better 
bide  wi'  us  until  the  mornin'  breaks." 

"  No,  I  must  push  on ;"  for  Roland  was  not  one  to  be 
daunted  by  difficulties. 

"  Hae  ye  ever  been  oot  in  a  Scotch  snaw-storm  on  the 
mountains,  my  lad  ?  Ye  dinna'  ken  what  ye  hae  to  en 
counter." 

"I  have  not,"  was  the  reply;  "but  I  shall  only  have 
three  miles  to  walk,  and  that  will  be  easier,  I  think,  than 
riding." 

"  Walk  in  sic  a  storm !  I  am  sorry  for  the  mon  that  tries 
it  this  dark  night.'' 

The  stage  started  ;  the  storm  increased  ;  it  was  a  weary 
drag  through  the  piled  up  snow :  and  yet  it  was  still  falling 
thicker,  faster,  while  the  wind  was  raging ;  frequently,  the 
horses  had  to  pause;  and  it  was  late,  indeed  quite  night, 
when  they  halted  at  the  stopping  place. 

The  driver  directed  Roland  how  to  find  the  road  to 
Graham  Hall ;  indeed,  to  be  sure  that  he  had  the  right 
start,  he  walked  with  him  some  distance,  until  he  was 
fairly  on  the  track^ 

It  was  up  a  by-road  that  he  was  now  walkirg.     He  was 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  287 

directed  to  go  straight-forward  until  he  came  to  a  gate,  that 
led  directly  to  Malcolm's  house,  about  one  mile  distant.  It 
was  a  weary  journey,  more  difficult  than  he  had  imagined ; 
the  beating  of  the  snow  in  his  face,  and  the  tremendous 
power  of  the  wind  against  which  he  was  struggling,  fre 
quently  overpowered  him ;  and  he  had  to  stand  still  with 
his  back  to  the  storm,  to  recover  himself  for  fresh  efforts ; 
his  feet  were  growing  benumbed,  his  mouth  stiffened,  and 
the  feeling  of  weariness  almost  compelling  him  to  lie  down 
to  sleep,  was  creeping  slowly  over  him.  Still  he  persevered, 
and  roused  all  his  energies  to  shake  off  the  lethargy. 

In  his  carpet-bag,  he  remembered  a  small  flask  of  wine 
which  Jennie  had  thoughtfully  placed  there ;  taking  a 
mouthful,  he  felt  revived.  But  he  certainly  ought  to  be 
near  the  gate ;  he  had  walked  so  long,  and  yet  he  could 
find  none.  He  must  be  lost — what  was  now  to  be  done  ? 
He  stood  silent  for  a  minute,  prayed  for  guidance,  strained 
eyes  and  ears  for  some  direction.  At  last,  he  heard  the 
bark  of  a  dog;  he  did  not  seem  very  far  off.  Roland 
whistled,  and  advancing  a  few  steps  farther,  he  thought  he 
sa'w  a  light,  very  dim  in  the  midst  of  the  falling  snow,  but 
still  there  was  really  a  faint  glimmer  ;  he  tried  to  follow  it, 
and  as  he  advanced,  it  became  brighter ;  then  he  felt  that 
he  was  in  the  right  path  to  a  human  habitation.  He 
hallooed,  as  loud  as  his  failing  strength  would  allow,  several 
times  ;  the  light  moved,  another  light  was  visible  ;  it  was 
certainly  approaching;  in  a  minute,  a  dog  bounded  through 
the  drifts,  and  barked  loud  and  long.  "  Dinna'  be  alarmed," 
cried  a  man's  voice,  "  he  is  only  telling  us  that  he  has 
found  ye."  In  another  second  a  man  appeared  with  a 
lantern. 

"  Ye  hae  been  oot  in  a  sair  storm,  my  friend ;  follow  me, 
an'  I  will  bring  ye  to  a  safe  harbor.'' 

"  I  am  searching  for  Malcolm  Graham,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Hoot  awa',  mon !  ye  are  far  oot  o'  the  way ;  it  is  a 
guid  thing  that  I  found  ye  in  time." 


288         /  WOODCLIFF. 

Taking  Roland  by  the  arm,  he  led  him  forward  through 
the  drifts,  to  the  d'K>r  of  his  humble  cottage,  where  his 
good  wife  stood  waiting  her  husband's  return. 

"  Throw  me  my  tartan,  wife,"  cried  the  man ;  "  here  is  a 
lost  traveller,  an'  I  am  ganging  to  guide  him  to  Graham  Hall ; 
gi'  the  dogs  the  lanterns ;  come,  Jack,  come,  Joan,''  con 
tinued  the  man,  as  he  fastened  the  small  lanterns  with 
reflectors,  around  the  dogs'  necks.  "  We  are  safe  enow, 
sir,  for  these  tykes  ken  every  turn  o'  these  mountain 
roads." 

They  bounded  off  with  a  cheery  bark,  and  threading 
their  way  skilfully  by  the  side  of  the  drifts,  our  travellers 
followed  the  lights  with  quickened  pace. 

Bright  lights  beaming  from  several  windows  suddenly 
burst  upon  them.  "We  are  at  Graham  Hall,  sir,"  said*  the 
shepherd ;  and  hastily  stepping  up  on  the  front  piazza,  he 
rapped  loud  with  the  iron  lion's  head  that  served  for 
knocker  at  the  great  hall  door.  The  master  presented  him 
self.  "  Why,  Sandy  Armstrong,  what  brought  ye  oot  in 
sic  a  night  as  this?" 

"  I  hae  found  a  lost  traveller  searchin'  for  Graham  Hall, 
sir;  an'  I  hae  brought  him  safely  to  ye;  but  he  is  sairly 
worn  oot." 

"  Come  in,  sir,  and  we  shall  soon  see  what  the  warm 
fires  and  blankets  o'  Graham  Hall  can  do  for  ye,  my  young 
friend." 

"  Guid  night,  sir,"  said  Sandy,  and  Roland  thanked  the 
kind  man  for  his  safe  escort. 

"Won't  ye  tak'  some  warm  negus,  Sandy  v?"  said  the 
master. 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  sir,  but  I  maun  hasten  back ;  the 
snow  is  falling  still  heavily." 

Roland  stood  for  one  minute,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  hall, 
while  the  master  removed  his  tartan,  knocked  the  snow  off 
his  boots,  and  hung  his  cap  upon  the  pegs,  where  the  mas 
ter's  hunting-dress,  his  powder-horn,  and  game-bag,  indi- 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  289 

cated  his  love  for  mountain  sports.  A  set  of  antlers 
mounted  the  hall-door,  and  some  hunting  pictures  adorned 
the  wall. 

"  Ye  are  weak  and  sick,  sir,"  was  the  kind  salutation ; 
"tak'  my  arm,"  and  Malcolm  Graham  led  Roland  into  a 
bright  family  room,  where  a  large  wood  fire  blazed  upon 
the  hearth  of  a  Franklin  stove — the  rich,  dark  carpet,  the 
heavy  oak  furniture,  old  fashioned  chairs,  and  pictures  of 
Highland  scenery  gave  an  air  of  charming  comfort  to  the 
apartment,  which  was  truly  grateful  to  the  sick  and  jaded 
traveller. 

"  Lie  down,  sir,  on  the  couch ;''  and  Malcolm  beat  up  the 
soft  chintz  cushions  with  the  tenderness  of  a  woman,  as  he 
laid  Roland  down  on  the  comfortable  lounge.  Perceiving 
that  Roland  made  several  attempts  to  speak,  the  master 
continued, 

"  Dinna  talk,  there  is  plenty  o'  time  for  that ;  I  will  be 
back  in  a  minute,"  and  speedily  returning,  he  sat  down  by 
the  side  of  the  young  man,  watching  his  motions. 

"  Here,  brother,  is  the  negus,"  said  a  lady,  opening  the 
door  slightly ;  and  Malcolm  handed  it  to  Roland.  The  warm 
drink  speedily  restored  vitality  to  his  frame ;  then  taking 
off  his  boots,  his  kind  host  rubbed  his  feet  briskly,  dropping 
cheering  words  as  he  performed  the  service.  By  this  time, 
Roland  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  look  around  him  ;  and 
first  he  glanced  at  the  tall  and  noble-looking  man  that 
waited  upon  him.  The  dark  gray  eyes  expressed  a  world 
of  feeling,  and  the  mouth,  though  firm,  was  loving  as  a 
woman's.  'Tis  true  that  the  fine  head  was  partially  bald, 
and  the  hair  that  remained  was  silvered  with  marks  of 
time,  but  there  was  that  about  Malcolm  Graham  that  won 
Roland's  heart  at  once. 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,  whom  you  are  befriending  ?"  was 
Roland's  first  remark. 

"No,  sir,  a'  that  I  ken  is  that  ye  are  a  stranger,  an'  1 
took  ye  in." 
25 


290  V  "SODCLIFF. 

"  It  is  fitting  that  you  should  know — my  name  is  Roland 
Bruce,  sir." 

Malcolm's  color  changed,  as,  seizing  the  young  man's 
hand,  he  exclaimed :  "  Mary  Gordon's  son !  I  thank  thee, 
O,  my  Father !"  and  Malcolm  hid  his  face  in  his  handker 
chief  to  conceal  the  storm  of  mixed  emotions  which  swept 
over  his  countenance,  and  shook  his  frame. 

"  I  came  from  America  to  search  for  my  relations  ;  but  I 
find  none  of  my  mother's  kindred  left.  I  am  truly  alone  in 
the  wide  world  ;  she  bade  me  search  for  you  also." 

"  Not  alone,  Roland ;  Mary's  son  is  my  especial  care,  and 
my  heart  opens  wide  to  receive  ye ;  come  to  my  arms,  my 
son,  and  let  me  press  my  lips  upon  yer  young  brow." 

For  that  warm  embrace,  the  friendship  of  future  years 
was  sealed,  and  the  two  were  no  more  strangers. 

Malcolm  opened  the  door  and  called,  "  Annie,  I  hae  some 
one  to  introduce  to  ye,"  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  Lindsay, 
entered  the  room. 

<(  This  is  Mary  Gordon's  son,  Annie  ;  ye  will  luve  him  for 
my  sake." 

The  lady  greeted  him  warmly.  "  Ye  are  welcome  to  our 
fireside,  Roland ;  but  ye  maun  be  very  hungry ;''  and  the 
good  lady  hastened  away,  to  order  a  warm  supper  for  the 
weary  guest. 

The  door  opened  softly,  and  a  young  face  peeped  shyly 
in. 

"  Come  in,  Annot,"  said  her  uncle ;  and  a  little  fairy  of 
fifteen,  with  a  profusion  of  light,  curly  hair,  and  a  dancing 
step,  advanced  shyly  to  the  couch. 

"  Shake  hands  wi'  Mr.  Bruce,  Annot ;  he  has  come  to  stay 
wi'  us,  my  luve ;  he  is  the  chiel  o'  a  vera  dear  friend  of 
Uncle  Malcolm." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  ye,  sir ;  I  luve  ilka  body  that  IJncle 
Malcolm  loves." 

Another  applicant  for  introduction,  in  the  form  of  a  large 
family  dog  thrvt  lay  ensconced  on  a  rug  by  the  fire,  had  long 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  291 

been  asserting  his  claims  to  notice,  by  repeatedly  putting 
up  his  shaggy  paw,  and  looking  up  in  his  master's  face,  for 
his  share  in  the  ceremonies. 

"  I  maun  na'  forget  auld  Lion,  Roland ;  come  here,  auld 
fellow !"  and  the  dog,  wagging  his  tail,  put  up  his  rough 
paw  to  salute  Roland  ;  at  the  same  time,  expressing  his 
satisfaction  by  a  low  growl,  that  he  meant  to  be  musical  — 
at  any  rate,  it  expressed  good-will. 

Soon  a  neat-looking  Highland  girl  entered,  and  spreading 
the  table,  she  placed  upon  it  sundry  grateful  viands. 

"Hannah!"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "tell  Dugald  to  kindle  a 
fire  in  the  minister's  room." 

"  And  now,  Roland,  see  if  ye  can  tak'  some  supper,"  said 
the  master,  as  he  led  his  young  friend  to  the  table. 

He  ate  sparingly  of  the  profusion  spread  around  him,  for 
his  appetite  had  not  yet  returned,  but  the  feeling  of  perfect 
comfort  was  such  a  rest,  that  it  was  refreshment  enough  for 
Roland,  for  some  hours  at  least. 

"  We  shall  not  keep  ye  late  to-night,  Roland ;  ye  need 
rest,  and,  to-morrow,  ye  shall  tell  me  a'  your  story." 

A  bell  summoned  the  family  for  evening  worship ;  two 
or  three  Highland  men  and  women  came  in  from  the  kitchen, 
and  took  their  seats  reverently  with  the  family.  Annot 
opened  the  piano,  Malcolm  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible, 
with  some  simple  comments ;  Annot  played  a  beautiful 
Psalm,  in  which  all  joined  heartily  ;  and  the  master  con 
cluded  the  exercises  by  a  solemn,  earnest  prayer,  in  which 
Roland  was  most  affectionately  remembered. 

Taking  a  light,  he  said,  "  Come,  Roland,  I  will  tak'  ye 
to  yer  room ;"  and  Malcolm  led  the  way  to  a  bright  cheer 
ful  chamber,  where  a  glowing  fire  blazed  upon  the  hearth, 
for  the  master  was  a  great  advocate  of  wood  fires. 

A  warm  feather  bed,  plenty  of  blankets,  with  chintz  cur 
tains,  an  easy  rocking-chair,  and  writing-table,  made  up  a 
whole  of  home  comforts,  such  as  Roland  had  never,  in  all 
his  life,  enjoyed  before. 


292  WOODCLIFF. 

Fixing  the  lamp  with  old  bachelor  exactness  several  times 
before  it  suited  him,  Malcolm  left  the  room,  saying, 

"Is  there  onything  that  ye  want,  Roland?  dinna  be 
afraid  to  ask." 

" Nothing,  sir ;  I  am  perfectly  comfortable;  good-night, 
sir." 

"  Guid-night ;"  and  Malcolm  left  him  to  the  quiet  of  his 
thoughts.  Having  allowed  him  time  for  his  devotions,  and 
preparations  for  repose,  Malcolm  entered  once  more. 

"  Here  is  a  bowl  o'  negus,  my  son,  it  will  na'  harm  ye 
after  sic  a  freezing  as  ye  hae  had  ;"  and  Malcolm  insisted  on 
his  drinking  down  the  whole. 

"  Now,  guid-night,  Roland ;"  and  Malcolm  laid  his  hand 
in  blessing  upon  the  young  head,  as  he  continued, 

"  God  bless  ye,  and  gi'  ye  refreshing  sleep." 

He  lay  awake  some  time,  for  Roland's  emotions  were  of 
that  delicious  character  which  none  can  realize  but  those 
who  have  been  thus  suddenly  transported  from  a  scene  of 
danger  and  suffering  to  one  of  perfect  rest  and  safety.  The 
howling  of  the  wind  without,  and  the  beating  of  the  snow 
drifts  against  the  window-panes,  were  strongly  contrasted 
with  the  light  of  the  glowing  fire  illumining  some  Scripture 
pictures  on  the  wall,  the  warm,  soft  bed,  and  the  sweet 
atmosphere  of  Christian  love  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 
Truly,  "the  Lord  giveth  his  beloved  sleep!"  and  such  a 
sleep  was  Roland's. 

"  We  did  na'  wake  ye  early,  Roland ;"  said  his  friend, 
who  came  at  last  to  see  if  he  was  stirring,  "for  we  kenned 
that  ye  needed  rest;  how  do  ye  fare  this  morning  ?" 

"  Perfectly  well  and  happy,''  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  I  will  leave  ye  now ;  as  soon  as  ye  are  ready, 
come  down  to  the  breakfast-room." 

Roland  poured  out  his  heart  in  earnest,  grateful  prayer, 
dressed  himself,  and  appeared  before  the  family  quite 
another  man. 

A  smoking  breakfast  of  good,  hot  coffee,  venison,  beef- 


MIST    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  293 

steak,  hot  bannocks,  muffins,  and  boiled  eggs  awaited  him ; 
and,  on  this  occasion,  he  did  ample  justice  to  the  tempting 
viands. 

"We  have  delayed  worship,  this  morning,  on  your 
account,  Roland ;"  and  immediately  after  breakfast,  the 
same  company  again  assembled,  the  same  sweet  music, 
Scripture  reading,  and  fervent  prayer  of  the  night  before. 

"  Come,  look  out  upon  the  landscape,  Roland,"  said  the 
master,  as  he  led  the  young  man  into  the  family  parlor,  and 
turned  aside  the  heavy  curtains  that  he  might  see  the  pic 
ture  without. 

The  sun  was  shining  in  all  his  glory  upon  the  landscape 
— mountains  of  snow  were  piled  up  everywhere,  glistening 
in  the  sunbeams,  which  were  reflected  in  prismatic  colors 
in  the  icicles  pendant  from  the  branches  of  the  trees.  Such 
a  scene  Roland  had  never  before  witnessed,  and,  to  his 
temperament,  it  was  full  of  exhilaration. 

"  Now,  my  son,  I  am  ready  for  your  story ;"  and  Malcolm 
led  the  way  to  his  own  private  room,  directing  that  he 
should  not  be  disturbed  that  morning. 

It  was  a  cozy  little  apartment,  with  secretary,  writing- 
table,  book-cases  well  filled,  comfortable  chairs,  a  cushioned 
lounge,  and  a  bright  wood  fire. 

A  bust  of  Sir  Walter  occupied  one  niche,  and  Burns 
another.  A  picture  of  Abbotsford,  another  of  Melrose  Ab 
bey,  and  one  of  Burns'  Highland  Mary,  adorned  the  walls; 
and  a  flute,  with  piles  of  music,  lay  upon  a  stand  in  the 
corner  of  the  room.  Horns  of  deer  branched  over  the 
windows,  and  several  figures  of  Scottish  knights,  in  bronze, 
adorned  the  mantel-piece.  Everywhere,  the  house  was 
furnished  with  the  quiet  comforts,  and  even  elegancies,  of 
a  Scotch  gentleman. 

Lion  was  here,  of  course ;  for  at  all  times,  he  was  allowed 
free  access  to  Malcolm's  apartments,  and  no  .more  faithful 
friend  ever  followed  the  fortunes  of  a  master,  than  good 
old  Lion. 
25* 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

GRAHAM    HALL. 

IT  was  a  morning  fraught  with  deep  and  painful  memories, 
for  as  Roland  related  the  story  of  his  mother's  trials,  and 
his  own  struggles  with  poverty  and  suffering,  Malcolm's 
manly  heart  was  stirred  within  him  ;  and  when  he  read  the 
manuscript  which  Mrs.  Bruce  had  left,  floods  of  memory 
overpowered  him  for  one  moment,  for  it  took  him  back  so 
painfully  to  the  days  of  his  youth. 

"But  she  is  at  rest  noo,  Roland;  there  ne'er  was  a 
purer,  holier  heart  in  the  form  o'  woman,  than  that  which 
beat  in  the  bosom  o'  Mary  Gordon.  I  should  hae  made 
her  happy,  Roland,  but  God  willed  it  otherwise,  an'  I  am 
content ;  but  how  is  it  that  she  could  hae  suffered  so  much, 
with  sic  friends  in  Scotland?  Did  she  na  write  home?" 

"  She  did,  frequently,  Uncle  Malcolm ;  for  the  first  year 
we  received  answers ;  then  we  were  surrounded  by  mys 
tery  ;  we  could  not  imagine  how  it  was,  but  at  last,  my 
mother  thought  that  death  must  have  removed  her  relatives, 
and  she  ceased  to  write." 

Malcolm  opened  a  small  drawer  that  was  kept  carefully 
locked,  and  lifting  an  old  pocket-book,  took  out  a  lock  of 
golden  hair,  and  a  piece  of  faded  blue  ribbon. 

"  That  is  to  be  buried  with  me  in  my  grave,  Roland ;  it 
is  a'  that  is  left  to  me,  on  earth,  o'  Mary  Gordon ;  but  I 
believe  that  we  shall  meet  in  Heaven  ;  for,  Roland,  we 
were  made  for  each  other,  and  shall  hold  communion  yet ; 
here  is  a  perfect  likeness  o'  your  mother,  when  she  was 
(294) 


GRAHAM    HALL.  295 

sweet  Mary  Gordon ;"  and  Roland  gazed  upon  the  picture 
with  feelings  of  loving  reverence. 

It  was  a  bright  young  face,  with  deep  blue  eyes,  and  a 
profusion  of  light  curly  hair;  innocence  marked  its  general 
expression,  but  in  the  eyes  there  was  a  look  of  high  and 
holy  inspiration,  such  as  she  never  lost. 

"  If  ye  should  outlive  me,  Roland,  that  is  yours ;  your 
name  shall  be  placed  upon  the  back ;  would  that  I  could 
hae  kenned  my  boy  in  the  days  o'  his  adversity  ;  and  now 
I  hae  ane  request  to  make,  and  it  is  this ;  ca'  me  always 
Uncle  Malcolm ;  would  that  I  were  mair  to  ye." 

"  That  will  be  very  easy,  dear  Uncle  Malcolm ;  for  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  indeed  found  not  only  a  friend,  but  a  relative ; 
but  it  is  better  that  I  had  not  known  you  before ;  the  very 
discipline  of  my  life  has  called  out  qualities  which  prosperity 
could  never  have  fostered." 

"  That  talisman,  Roland,  has  been  your  a',  it  has  been 
the  making  o'  Mary  Gordon's  son.  '  Looking  aloft !'  0,  what 
blessedness  in  those  holy,  strengthening  words!  It  shall 
be  placed  upon  her  miniature,  Roland." 

When  Roland  related  the  early  struggles  of  his  life  in 
New  York,  the  trials  at  college,  the  weariness  of  hope  de 
ferred,  his  "  News-Boys'  Home,"  Malcolm  sat  with  head 
bowed  upon  his  hands,  and  when  he  had  finished  his  recital, 
he  clasped  Roland  in  his  arms,  and  said, — 

"  Ye  are  indeed  the  chiel  o'  Providence ;  be  my  son, 
Roland,  for  I  love  ye  as  my  ain." 

But  little  was  said  concerning  his  early  friend,  Madeline, 
but  even  the  few  passing  words  spoke  volumes  to  Malcolm 
Graham. 

Bowing  down  together  before  the  mercy-seat,  Malcolm 
poured  out  his  soul  in  earnest  prayer  for  the  youth  kneeling 
by  his  side,  and  Roland  took  up  the  language  of  supplica 
tion  and  praise,  and  from  a  full  heart  poured  out  his  grati 
tude  Arm  in  arm  they  left  the  study,  and  the  servants 


296  WOODCLIFF. 

wondered  what  the  master  had  found  in  the  loyt  traveller 
of  the  night  before. 

"  I  have  some  inquiries  to  make  about  Aunt  Douglass, 
for  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  believe  that  my  father  still 
lives ;  I  think  perhaps  that  she  may  know  something  of 
him." 

A  painful  expression  passed  over  Malcolm's  face,  as  he 
replied, — 

"  I  can  direct  ye,  Roland,  but  dinna  gae  yet ;  stay  wi' 
me  a  few  days ;  I  want  to  tell  ye  aboot  a'  my  plans,  and  as 
soon  as  the  travelling  will  allow  us,  I  hae  mickle  to  show 
ye  o'  Highland  life." 

The  next  day  brought  Roland  acquainted  with  Uncle 
Malcolm's  daily  habits.  A  part  of  each  morning  was 
devoted  to  Annot's  studies,  a  part  to-  superintending  ge 
neral  business,  keeping  accounts,  and  a  portion  to  regular 
systematic  reading. 

Sometimes  Uncle  Malcolm  indulged  in  sporting,  a  part  of 
the  amusements  of  Scotch  gentlemen. 

Friday  evening  came,  and  after  supper,  the  master  said, 

"  Dugald,  bring  in  the  books  an'  get  ready  for  the  meet 
ing,"  and  the  old  servant  soon  returned  with  additional 
seats,  and  a  large  number  of  hymn  books. 

"  We  hae  a  meeting  o'  my  tenants  every  Friday.  Ro 
land  ;  we  are  vera  far  frae  ony  kirk,  an'  I  hae  to-  be 
minister  to  them,  for  they  can  only  attend  the  quarterly 
communions." 

Soon  the  people  began  to  assemble ;  rough  Highlanders, 
with  their  wives  and  elder  children  came  flocking  in. 

Malcolm  sat  at  the  head  of  a  long  table,  and  as  each  one 
saluted  him,  it  was  manifest  with  what  feelings  of  affec 
tionate  reverence  good  Uncle  Malcolm  was  regarded  by  his 
humble  people.  A  chapter  from  the  Bible  with  some  fami 
liar  remarks  just  to  the  point  for  his  hearers,  several  beauti 
ful  Scotch  psalms,  in  which  all  joined  earnestly,  and  then 


GEAHAM    HALL.  291 

a  prayer  from  Malcolm,  and  another  from  Roland,  closed 
the  evening. 

Several  remained  behind  to  ask  advice;  some  about  their 
business,  their  families,  their  spiritual  needs,  their  cares 
and  sorrows,  their  disputes  and  difficulties  ;  and  the  kind 
words  dropped  by  the  good  steward  of  his  Master's  goods, 
testified  to  the  fidelity  with  which  he  discharged  his  holy 
trust. 

Daily  did  Malcolm  and  Roland  ride  around  among  his 
humble  dependents,  and  a  book  for  one,  a  tract  for  another, 
some  pecuniary  help  for  others,  marked  all  these  visits. 

"  You  see,  Roland,  that  I  am  pretty  busy  for  an  old 
bachelor ;  I  could  na'  live  without  employment.  Then  we 
hae  some  pleasant  society  here,  although  we  live  so  far 
apart.  When  the  gentry  visit  us,  it  is  to  stay  several  days, 
sometimes  weeks  at  a  time,  for  the  latch  o'  Graham  Hall  is 
always  up." 

On  Sabbath  afternoon,  a  company  of  little  ones  flocked 
to  the  Hall,  and  Malcolm,  Mrs.  Lindsay,  and  Annot  were 
the  teachers  on  these  occasions.  It  was  quite  a  pleasant 
treat  to  Roland  to  aid  in  the  good  work. 

In  the  evenings,  Annot  entertained  them  with  her  sweet 
Scotch  songs,  and  Roland  frequently  accompanied  her 
with  his  deep,  rich  voice,  and  Uncle  Malcolm  with  his  flute. 

Malcolm  often  wondered  what  he  should  do  when  Ro 
land  would  leave  him,  for  every  day  he  learned  to  love  him, 
not  only  for  Mary  Gordon's,  but  for  his  own  sake. 

"  We  shall  hae  to  ask  for  your  room  to-night,  Roland," 
said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "  for  the  minister  is  coming,  and  he 
always  occupies  that  room.'' 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  me,  dear  Madam  ;  put  me  any 
where  that  suits  you.'' 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Murray  was  a  fine  specimen  of  a  Scotch 
minister,  grave,  earnest,  faithful ;  he  was  always  welcome 
among  his  humble  mountain  parishioners,  and  came  quar 
terly  to  look  after  their  welfare. 


298  WOODCLIFF. 

"Are  there  ony  ready  for  the  Lord's  supper,  Mr.  Graham?" 
inquired  the  minister. 

"  I  think  there  are  four ;  they  will  be  here  next  Sabbath, 
when  ye  can  examine  them." 

There  was  a  large  gathering  at  Graham  Hall  on  that 
holy  day,  for  notice  had  been  given  that  the  minister  was 
coming. 

He  preached  an  earnest,  faithful  sermon,  somewhat  longer 
than  Roland  had  been  accustomed  to,  for  an  hour  and  a 
half  were  given  up  to  that  exercise  ;  long  prayers,  and  long 
psalms  made  the  occasion  tedious  to  one  not  accustomed  to 
such  services,  but  the  people  did  not  complain,  although 
it  brought  their  dinner  two  hours  later  than  on  other 
days. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  minister  examined  several  candi 
dates  for  the  Lord's  Supper,  which  was  to  be  administered 
on  the  following  Sabbath,  and  paid  a  just  tribute  to  the 
Gdelity  with  which  they  had  been  instructed  by  the  min 
ister's  earnest  helper.  Mr.  Murray  stayed  all  night,  and 
gave  some  wise  spiritual  advice  to  Roland  before  he  took 
his  departure. 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  chiel  o'  God,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "  and 
can  come  to  the  sacrament,  if  he  wishes,  next  Sabbath ;  it 
must  be  pleasant  to  hae  sic  a  guest." 

"  He  is  a  descendant  o'  the  Gordons,  Mr.  Murray,  and  a 
chiel  o'  earnest  prayer." 

"  They  were  aye  a  godly  race,  Mr.  Graham,  an'  mony  an 
ancient  martyr  bears  their  name." 

On  the  following  Sabbath,  Malcolm,  Roland,  Mrs.  Lind 
say,  and  Annot  started  at  early  down  in  one  carriage,  and 
all  the  servants  in  a  large,  comfortable  wagon ;  the  house 
was  closed  for  the  day,  for  in  Scotland  these  sacrament 
days  occupy  the  whole  Sabbath. 

Arrived  at  the  place  of  concourse,  large  numbers  were 
seen  coming  in  all  directions ;  carriages,  wagons,  people  on 
horseback  and  on  foot,  hurried  to  the  service,  for  as  it 


GRAHAM    HALL.  299 

occurred  so  seldom,  it  was  a  great  occasion  to  devout 
Scotch  people. 

Owing  to  the  numbers,  the  services  were  out  of  doors  ; 
a  table  was  spread  under  large  shady  trees,  and  tem 
porary  seats  provided  for  the  occasion. 

A  long  sermon  was  preached,  but  full  of  power ;  long 
prayers,  but  full  of  unction ;  deep,  sonorous,  stirring  psalms 
were  sung  by  th'e  great  multitude,  and  Roland  thought  of 
the  songs  of  the  redeemed  in  the  Revelations,  where  the 
hallelujahs  were  compared  to  the  voice  of  many  waters. 
The  effect  was  sublime  under  these  old  trees ;  young  men 
and  old,  mothers,  maidens,  and  little  children  all  joining 
in  the  solemn  chorus,  with  the  heavens  for  their  canopy, 
and  the  green  sward  for  their  carpeted  aisles. 

"  'Neath  cloistered  boughs  each  floral  bell  that  swingeth, 

And  tolls  its  perfume  on  the  passing  air, 
Makes  Sabbath  in  the  fields,  and  ever  ringeth, 
A  call  to  prayer ! 

"  Not  to  the  domes  where  crumbling  arch  and  column, 

Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal  hand ; 
But  to  that  fane,  most  catholic  and  solemn, 
Which  God  hath  planned! 

"  To  that  cathedral,  boundless  as  our  wonder, 

Whose  quenchless  lamps  the  sun  and  moon  supply, 
Its  choir,  the  winds  and  waves,  its  organ  thunder, 
Its  dome,  the  sky !" 

But  here  was  the  voice  of  God's  ambassador,  and  the 
presence  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  Roland  listened  and 
worshipped  with  solemn  awe  in  nature's  grand  cathedral. 

In  the  intervals  between  the  services,  the  people  as 
sembled  in  serious  groups  under  the  trees  to  eat  their 
meals,  for  all  who  lived  at  a  distance  had  come  with  the 
intention  to  spend  the  Sabbath. 

No  lightness  was  manifest  among  the  crowds,  for  Scotch 
people  are  proverbial  for  their  reverence  for  the  Sabbath. 


:100  WOODCLIFF. 

The  minister  mingled  occasionally  with  his  people ;  but 
none,  not  even  the  little  children,  seemed  to  forget  that  it 
was  the  holy  Sabbath.  At  the  close  of  the  solemn  day, 
Malcolm  and  his  family  returned  to  their  mountain  home, 
doubtless  benefitted  by  the  exercises  of  this  holy  service. 

"  We  have  had  a  pleasant  day,  Uncle  Malcolm,"  said 
Roland,  "  but  would  it  not  be  better  if  the  services  were 
not  quite  so  long  ?  I  observed  many  old  people  nodding 
in  the  afternoon." 

"  It  would  be  doubtless  better,  but  the  customs  of  the 
old  Scotch  church  are  very  hard  to  remodel.  The  good 
Dr.  Chalmers  has  done  much  in  the  way  of  reform,  but  it 
has  not  reached  us  yet." 

"  What  a  noble  witness  for  the  truth  is  that  good  man ! 
There  is  but  one  such  man  in  our  age,  Uncle  Malcolm ;  at 
least  but  one  given  to  an  especial  branch  of  the  Christian 
church." 

"  Yes,  Roland,  the  Church  of  England  has  her  Bicker- 
steth ;  the  Baptist,  her  Robert  Hall ;  the  Methodist,  her 
Wesley ;  and  a'  seeking  one  great  end,  the  glory  of  the 
Saviour,  and  the  spread  of  his  kingdom.  What  a  blessed 
day  that  will  be,  when  these  sects  shall  pass  away,  and  we 
shall  be  truly  one  in  Christ,  once  more  the  simple  primitive 
Christians  of  Antioch !" 

And  thus  they  fulfilled  the  blessed  command  of  their 
Master,  talking  of  the  things  of  his  kingdom,  until  like  the 
disciples  on  their  way  to  Emmaus  their  hearts  burned 
within  them  with  emotions  of  holy  love.  Where  the 
fountain  is  full,  the  streams  will  gush  forth  naturally,  freely, 
healthfully. 

"  It  is  a  fine  day,  Uncle  Malcolm,"  said  Roland,  on  the 
following  Monday;  "can  we  go  to-day  to  visit  the  glen 
where  my  martyred  ancestors  lie  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  o'  it  mysel',  Roland  ;  the  weather  could 
na'  be  better,  hard  roads,  and  clear  sharp  air — it  is  a  long 
ride  frae'  here,  and  we  will  set  out  early — hae  the  carriage 


GRAHAM   HALL.  301 

ready,  Dugald,  and  a  basket  o'  provision ;  we  will  gae  in 
aboot  an  hour." 

It  was  a  splendid  ride  over  these  mountain  roads,  wind 
ing  around  in  their  ascent  to  heights  whence  there  were 
vistas  charming  in  their  grandeur  even  at  this  season  ;  then 
descending  into  rural  glens  where  the  cottages  of  the  pea 
santry  ever  and  anon  met  their  view.  "  There  is  Castle 
Kennicott,  Roland ;"  and  Malcolm  pointed  to  a  miserable 
range  of  buildings,  so  dilapidated  that  his  companion  smiled 
at  the  name. 

"  There  lives  old  Sir  Peter  Kennicott;  he  is  a  specimen 
o'  an  auld  Scottish  laird,  vera  poor,  and  vera  proud ;  his 
wife,  Lady  Catherine,  and  three  daughters,  make  up  his 
household ;  they  visit  us  two  or  three  times  a  year,  and 
living  as  they  do  in  the  seclusion  o'  their  Highland  home, 
ken  but  little  o'  the  ways  o'  the  rest  o'  the  warld ;  they  are 
vera  amusing  wi'  their  quaint  auld-fashioned  manners  ;  but 
Lady  Catherine  is  a  guid  woman,  and  much  esteemed." 

Beguiling  the  way  with  pleasant  chat,  in  a  few  hours 
they  reached  the  spot  they  sought  for.  Dismounting,  they 
stood  around  the  lowly  grave — the  same  ruined  chimney, 
the  same  grand  old  trees,  the  same  dark  and  sombre  glen, 
where  no  human  habitation  was  visible,  recalled  the  picture 
so  deeply  engraved  upon  the  memory  of  Roland. 

"We  stood  just  here,  Uncle  Malcolm,"  (and  Roland 
almost  whispered,  for  he  felt  in  the  midst  of  solemn  asso 
ciations,)  "  when  my  mother  told  me  the  story  of  old  David 
Gordon  and  the  sweet  Lilian,  and  I  think  from  that  day 
my  childish  soul  took  a  great  leap  in  its  existence,  and  I 
never  could  forget  the  thoughts  which  stirred  within  me, 
as  I  remembered  that  my  ancestors  were  among  the  holy- 
band  of  Christian  martyrs." 

"  It  is  a  great  honor,  Roland,  to  be  descended  frae  those 
who  will  hereafter  be  kings  and  priests  unto  God." 

"  What  a  cruel  being  man  must  be  that  can  slay  such 
innocence  as  slumbers  here !" 
26 


302  WOODCLIPP. 

"And  yet  it  is  frae  oot  sic  dreadful  scenes  o'  bluidshed 
that  great  principles  to  bless  ^pur  race  arise ;  the  struggles 
between  right  and  wrong  are  often  ushered  in  by  the  gibbot, 
the  stake,  or  the  battle-axe." 

"O,  what  a  happy  time  that  will  be,  Uncle  Malcolm, 
when  the  nations  shall  learn  war  no  more !  when  man  shall 
love  his  brother  man." 

"It  is  coming,  Roland;  sure  as  God's  word  is  true,  sic  a 
day  will  dawn  upon  the  earth." 

Hours  were  spent  around  the  humble  grave,  for  both  felt 
the  inspiration  of  the  scene. 

"  I  hae  something  mair  to  show  ye,  Roland  ;  here  is  ane 
o'  the  caves  where  our  fathers  used  to  hide  in  those  dismal 
days ;  and  mony  a  time  in  the  midst  o'  baptismal  or  sacra 
ment  seasons  in  these  lonely  glens,  at  the  sound  o'  the 
tramp  o'  Claverhouse  and  his  troopers,  would  they  hae  to 
fly  to  these  damp  and  gloomy  shelters." 

"  How  solemn  must  have  been  the  worship  of  these 
days,  Uncle  Malcolm ;  ever  on  the  borders  of  eternity,  they 
must  always  have  sounded  like  funereal  hymns  in  these 
solitudes !" 

"And  yet  how  much  we  hae  read  o'  their  heroic  spirit, 
their  brave  endurance,  and  their  triumph  over  death  1  I 
can  imagine  strains  o'  victory  always  mingling  wi'  a  mar 
tyr's  hymn." 

When  they  arrived  at  home,  letters  from  Edmund  awaited, 
Roland;  he  seemed  to  be  growing  tired  of  travelling 
alone.  Uncle  Malcolm,  with  his  accustomed  hospitality, 
immediately  wrote  a  few  lines  of  cordial  invitation  to 
Graham  Hall. 

"  Wha'  hae  we  here  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

Roland  looked  out,  and,  lumbering  up  the  road,  came  a 
large  old-fashioned  carriage,  with  two  fat,  lazy  horses. 

"  It  is  Sir  Peter,"  continued  the  lady ;  and  soon  the  party 
stopped  at  the  door. 

"  How  fares  it  wi'  ye  a'  ?"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  stepped 


GRAHAM    HALL.  303 

slowly  from  the  carriage,  and  warmly  shook  the  master's 
hand. 

Lady  Catherine  followed,  and  then  the  three  daughters, 
with  their  pets — Miss  Juliana,  with  her  cat;  Miss  Winnie, 
with  a  fat  lap-dog ;  and  Miss  Jacky,  with  a  large  parrot, 
brought  to  her  from  abroad  by  a  sailor  cousin.  Sundry 
bandboxes,  and  a  trunk,  indicated  that  they  meant  to  stay 
for  some  days  at  least.  The  three  ladies  had  all  passed 
the  hey-day  of  youth,  for  the  youngest  was  thirty  at  least. 
Miss  Juliana,  the  eldest,  having  passed  two  seasons  at 
Edinburgh,  was  the  only  one  who  pretended  to  the  man 
ners  of  a  lady  ;  she  still  preserved  carefully  the  wardrobe 
of  those  youthful  days  for  extra  occasions,  such  as  a 
visit  to  Graham  Hall.  On  this  day,  a  worn-out  travelling 
dress,  made  in  the  fashion  of  twenty  years  ago,  looked 
rather  antiquated ;  but  the  narrow  purse  of  Kennicott 
Castle  made  a  virtue  of  necessity. 

Sir  Peter,  clad  in  the  costume  of  ancient  times,  with  his 
bob-wig  and  powdered  hair,  his  small  clothes,  and  silver 
knee  and  shoe-buckles,  his  three-cornered  hat,  and  silver- 
headed  cane,  with  a  coat  whose  pockets  were  large  enough 
to  hold  a  change  of  clothing,  presented  a  most  grotesque 
appearance,  and  really  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a 
person  rigged  out  for  a  dramatic  scene.  Lady  Catherine 
was  equally  antique.  After  the  ceremony  of  introduction, 
they  were  escorted  to  their  rooms ;  and  nothing  more  was 
seen  of  them  until  dinner-time,  when  their  appearance  at 
the  table  indicated  the  employment  of  the  morning. 

Miss  Juliana  was  arrayed  in  a  youthful  dress  of  light 
blue  silk;  and,  as  the  eldest,  wore  the  old  family  jewels, 
which  certainly  were  not  of  the  most  costly  kind.  Her 
hair  was  dressed  in  the  most  youthful  style  ;  but  artificial 
rose-buds  could  not  conceal  the  gray  locks,  or  hide  the 
shrivelled  cheeks.  She  carried  a  fan,  with  which  she  per 
formed  certain  singular  manoeuvres,  which  she  considered 
the  very  tip  of  the  haut-ton. 


304  WOODCLIFF. 

Miss  Juliana  was  the  oracle  of  the  family ;  for  had  she 
not  been  in  Edinburgh  for  two  seasons?  and  ought  she  not 
to  know  the  fashions  of  high  life  ? 

Miss  Winnie  was  fat  and  coarse,  with  high  cheek  bones, 
large  hands  and  feet,  freckled  skin,  and  red  hair ;  she  cer 
tainly  did  not  pretend  to  be  the  beauty  of  the  family. 

Miss  Jacky,  the  "  Baby,"  as  they  still  called  her,  was 
considered  the  "beauty." 

A  small  figure,  with  a  profusion  of  light  flaxy  hair, 
tortured  into  curling,  light  complexion,  with  high  color,  un 
meaning  china-blue  eyes,  and  pursed-up  little  mouth,  dis 
tinguished  her  from  her  sisters. 

They  were  all  bent  upon  Baby's  making  a  great  match  ; 
therefore,  all  the  finery  of  the  past  generation,  that  re 
mained  in  the  old  family  chest,  was  kept  especially  for  her. 
A  heavy  crimson  brocade  for  winter,  that  stood  alone,  was 
made  up  with  low  neck  and  short  sleeves ;  and  in  summer, 
one  light  pink  taffeta  was  likewise  remodelled.  One  wreath 
of  roses  for  her  hair,  one  string  of  pearls  for  the  neck,  with 
ear-rings  to  match,  one  pair  of  soiled  kid  gloves  for  the 
hands,  and  one  pair  of  narrow  pointed  slippers,  made  up 
Baby's  wardrobe,  and  this  she  had  worn  on  her  visits  to 
Graham  Hall,  and  Douglass  Manor,  ever  since  she  was 
eighteen  ;  and  now,  alas !  Baby  was  thirty. 

She  had  sung  the  same  songs,  danced  the  same  Scotch 
reels,  said  the  same  pretty  silly  things ;  charming  only  to 
her  family,  and  yet  Baby  was  not  married. 

Sir  Peter  had  long  thought  that  a  seat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  at  Graham  Hall,  would  be  the  very  thing  for  Baby, 
but  unfortunately,  the  master  did  not  concur  in  sentiment. 

"Annot,  my  dear,  come  sit  by  me,"  said  the  sweet  young 
lady,  for  she  knew  that  Malcolm  dearly  loved  his  little 
niece.  Baby  was  devoted  in  her  attentions  to  the  child, 
but  it  all  seemed  lost  upon  Malcolm,  who  was  busily  en 
gaged  in  talking  to  Sir  Peter  about  the  cattle  and  the  sheep 


GRAHAM    HALL.  305 

during  the  late  snow  storm.  "  I  lost  ten  o'  my  best  sheep, 
Mr.  Graham,"  remarked  the  old  man. 

"  I  did  na  lose  ane,  Sir  Peter,"  was  the  answer,  and 
Malcolm  dropped  many  hints  which*  might  have  been 
useful,  if  the  old  man  had  not  been  too  indolent  to  profit 
by  them. 

The  politeness  of  the  household  was  much  taxed  by  their 
efforts  to  entertain  their  guests ;  for  there  were  just  four 
subjects  of  conversation  for  the  four  ladies. 

Lady  Catherine  discussed  household  economy;  Miss 
Juliana,  her  visit  to  Edinburgh,  twenty  years  ago,  an  un 
failing  subject ;  Miss  Winnie,  her  pet  lap-dog,  with  all  his 
wonderful  tricks  ;  and  Baby,  "  The  Children  of  the  Abbey," 
and  the  "  Sorrows  of  Werter." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Lindsay  tried  to  divert  the 
channel  of  conversation  to  better  things ;  back  to  the  old 
worn-out  sayings  and  doings  of  their  little  world  they  would 
come. 

All  the  ladies  employed  themselves  in  knitting  while 
they  talked.  Lady  Catherine  knit  stockings  for  the  win 
ter ;  Miss  Juliana  mitts  innumerable;  Miss  Winnie,  tip 
pets  of  all  sizes ;  and  Baby  tidies  and  mats  for  parlor  and 
chamber. 

Knit !  knit !  knit !  talk !  talk  I  talk  !  Truly  a  visit  from 
Kennicott  Castle  was  a  trial  to  Christian  patience !  And 
then,  the  darling  pets !  Miss  Juliana's  pet  cat  fought  with 
the  master's  noble  dog;  Miss  Winnie's  lap-dog  tried  to  tear 
out  the  eyes  of  Annot's  little  kitten ;  and  Baby's  parrot 
screamed  night  and  day,  "  Polly  wants  Baby !  Polly  wants 
Baby  !''  Then  Miss  Juliana's  cat  must  have  sweet  milk 
three  times  a  day,  and  the  most  delicate  pieces  of  meat  cut 
up  very  fine ;  Miss  Winnie's  lap-dog  must  be  fed  upon 
cream ;  and  Baby's  parrot  could  open  her  cage-door,  and 
help  herself  to  whatever  she  liked  upon  the  table.  This 
was  great  fun  to  Baby,  but  disgusting  to  others,  who  could 
not  bear  a  dirty  parrot  walking  over  the  dinner-plates. 


306  WOODCLIFF. 

Miss  Juliana  played  two  old  marches,  Miss  Winnie  two 
old  pieces,  and  Baby  three  songs  exactly. 

They  all  attended  punctually  upon  the  family  devotions, 
and  then  Malcolm  could  pray  that  all  who  knelt  around 
that  alt^ar  should  set  their  affections  upon  things  above, 
and  not  on  the  vain  and  fleeting  things  of  earth ;  their 
frivolity  pained  him,  and  the  good  master  tried  many  ways 
to  do  them  good. 

He  talked  to  the  ladies  about  schools  for  the  poor  chil 
dren,  and  about  comforts  for  their  parents. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Miss  Juliana,  "Mr.  Graham  you  would 
na'  expect  us  to  stoop  to  these  wild  Highlanders  ;  why ! 
they  are  na'  mair  than  savages  !" 

"And  sae  they  will  continue,  my  dear  Madam," 
("  Madam  !"  Miss  Juliana  did  not  like  that J  "  if  you  will 
na'  step  forward  to  their  help ;  and  in  sic  a  lonesome  place, 
I  should  think  it  would  be  pleasant  wark." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Graham,  it  would  take  twa  hunters  ilka 
morn  to  catch  the  wild  things ;  on  the  tops  o'  the  highest 
hills,  down  in  the  deepest  glens,  hidden  amang  the  steep 
rocks,  we  might  as  well  try  to  tame  the  wild  animals  as 
these  rough,  outlandish  children  o'  the  crags." 

"  Try,  Miss  Juliana,  gi'  them  something  for  the  body, 
and,  after  awhile,  they  will  come  to  ye  for  something  for 
the  mind." 

Miss  Juliana  yawned,  "  It  is  sae  mickle  work,  Mr.  Gra 
ham,  for  a  high-born  lady ;  I  could  na'  think  of  sic  a 
thing." 

For  two  weeks  the  visitors  remained  ;  but  no  visible  pro 
gress  was  made  by  Baby,  and  the  party  turned  their  faces 
homeward. 

"  Ye  will  return  our  visit  soon,  Mr.  Graham ;  bring  yer 
young  friend  wi'  ye ;  we  canna  promise  mickle  at  Kennicott, 
but  we  will  rnak'  ye  welcome." 

"  Thank  ye,  Sir  Peter,  when  we  hae  leisure,  we  will 
accept  your  kind  invitation." 


GRAHAM    HALL.  307 

The  old  carnage  was  brought  up,  Sir  Peter  and  Lady 
Catherine  comfortably  seated,  followed  by  Miss  Juliana 
and  her  cat,  Tabby  ;  Miss  Winnie  and  her  dog,  Charley  ; 
and  Baby  with  her  talking  Poll,  screaming,  as  she  went, 
"  Poll  wants  Baby ;"  with  sundry  band-boxes  and  trunks, 
filled  with  the  old  finery,  to  be  packed  away  for  future 
occasions  ;  while  the  ladies  would  now  assume  their  tartan 
plaid  and  woollen  hose,  until  making  another  visitation. 

Mrs.  Lindsay  gave  one  long,  expressive  breath ;  good 
Uncle  Malcolm  smiled  with  a  look  of  relief,  and  little 
Annot  clapped  her  hands  as  she  hugged  up  her  pet  kitten, 
and  said,  "  Now,  tittens !  that  horrid  dog  is  gone,  and  ye 
shall  hae  some  peace  o'  your  life." 

In  a  few  days,  Edmund  arrived,  and  received  a  hearty 
welcome  from  the  master  of  Graham  Hall.  Soon  domesti 
cated,  he  revelled  in  the  comforts  of  the  hospitable  man 
sion  ;  and  day  after  day,  seated  by  the  blazing  fire  of  the 
family-room,  he  would  rub  his  hands  with  delight,  exclaim 
ing, 

"  This  is  living,  Roland !  How  shall  I  eYer  content  my 
self  in  that  Babel  of  a  city  after  these  grand  mountains, 
these  noble  trees,  this  free  life  out-of-doors,  and  this  glow 
ing,  warm-hearted  hospitality  within  !" 

"  It  is  a  charming  home,  indeed !"  was  Roland's  reply, 
"  the  very  perfection  of  that  sweet  word ;  though  so  cold 
without,  one  feels  all  the  time  here  in  the  midst  of  a  warm 
glow  of  Christian  love,  and  hearty  welcome."' 

"  What  a  charming  piece  of  simplicity  is  that  dear  little 
Annot,  Roland !  So  fresh  !  so  naive !  After  the  glitter  of 
New  York  belles,  she  is  really  captivating ;  and  then  her 
music — why,  she  warbles  sweetly  as  a  mavis." 

Roland  smiled  as  he  replied,  "  Where  is  Miss  Hamilton, 
Edmund  ?" 

"  0,  she  is  out  of  my  reach  !  a  bright  divinity  that  I  may 
worship  in  the  distance!  But  this  little  Scotch  mountain 
girl !  innocent  child  that  she  is,  charms  me  daily  more  and 


308  WOODCLIFF. 

more,  with  her  winning  ways,  and  her  sweet,  loving 
eyes." 

"  Take  care,  Edmund,  how  you  allow  yourself  to  become 
enchanted  ;  for  you  may  never  see  Scotland  again." 

"  That  is  not  so  certain,  my  dear  sir,  for  I  have  had  a 
taste  of  Highland  life  that  I  shall  never  forget ;  and  this 
sweet  face  I  must  see  again." 

Roland  found  that  he  must  seek  out  his  aunt ;  therefore, 
in  a  day  or  two,  Uncle  Malcolm  and  he  sat  out  for  Doug 
lass  Manor,  leaving  Edmund  behind  to  seek  his  own  plea 
sures.  It  was  a  long  two-storied  stone  mansion,  that  had 
long  been  in  the  family,  and  therefore  dignified  by  the 
name  of  "  The  Manor." 

Mr.  Graham  inquired  for  the  mistress ;  asked  into  the 
parlor,  they  awaited  her  arrival. 

In  a  few  minutes,  a  tall  lady,  with  pleasing  aspect,  and 
dignified  address,  entered  the  parlor. 

"  Ye  are  welcome,  Mr.  Graham  ;  it  is  a  long  time  syne  I 
hae  had  this  honor." 

"I  cam'  to  introduce  a  family  connexion,  Mrs.  Douglass." 

The  lady  looked  earnestly  at  Roland,  a  change  passed 
over  her  countenance,  as  she  advanced  towards  the  young 
man,  and  taking  his  hand,  she  said, — 

"  I  dinna  ken  what  to  think,  but  surely  ye  are  vera  like 
my  brother  Stephen,  lost  so  lang  ago." 

Malcolm  had  left  the  room. 

"  I  am  Roland  Bruce,  your  brother's  son,  Aunt  Douglass  ; 
you  are  the  first  relative  that  I  have  met  in  Scotland." 

She  grasped  his  hand,  and  drawing  him  to  her,  kissed 
him  affectionately. 

"My  dear  nephew!  This  is  joyful  indeed!  Nane  o' 
my  kindred  hae  I  left  on  earth,  but  yoursel'l" 

Roland  then  related  his  story  to  his  aunt ;  she  was  deeply 
moved ;  as  soon  as  he  mentioned  the  name  of  Elsie  Gibson, 
she  exclaimed, 

"  Is  it  possible  that  Elsie  is  in  America  ?     We  missed 


GRAHAM    HALL.  309 

her  years  ago,  but  nane  could  tell  whate'er  became  o' 
her." 

"What  relation  does  she  bear  to  us?"  inquired  Roland. 

"  Roland,  she  luved  your  father  dearly,  an'  had  he  mar 
ried  her,  he  wud  hae  been  a  happier  mon ;  but  he  was 
aye  like  one  crazed  on  the  subject  o'  Mary  Gordon." 

"  My  mother  made  him  a  good  wife,  Aunt  Douglass ;  she 
was  most  faithful  and  devoted." 

"  Yes,  Roland,  I  ken  a'  that  to  be  true ;  but  her  heart 
was  na  wi'  her  husband." 

"  It  was  with  no  one  else,  Aunt  Douglass  ;  I  wish  that 
you  could  have  known  my  dear  mother." 

At  the  end  of  their  interview,  Mrs.  Douglass  was  con 
vinced  that  her  brother  was  yet  alive. 

"  I  will  gae  wi'  ye,  Roland,  when  ye  return  to  America ; 
I  maun  find  my  brother,  for  our  property  is  yet  unsettled, 
although  my  father  has  been  dead  these  four  years;  ye 
maun  stay  wi'  me,  Roland,  it  is  sic  a  pleasure  to  see  a 
branch  o'  my  ain  hoose,"  and  Aunt  Douglass  affectionately 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"Looking  aloft!"  thought  Roland,  "how  many  of  my 
prayers  and  hopes  have  been  fulfilled!  I  will  never  dis 
trust  a  gracious  God,  so  true  to  all  his  promises." 

Malcolm  left  Roland  with  the  promise  to  come  once  more 
to  Graham  Hall  ere  be  left  the  country. 

Mrs.  Douglass  ^busied  herself  in  preparing  all  the  docu 
ments  necessary  ere  she  left  Scotland,  and  after  having 
shown  her  nephew  all  that  was  interesting  around  the 
Manor,  she  started,  with  her  nephew  for  Malcolm's  home. 

"  Would  it  not  be  better,  Uncle  Malcolm,  to  settle  my 
mother's  estate  before  I  leave  Scotland  ?  I  should  like  to 
dispose  of  it,  for  my  future  home  will  be  in  America." 

"  I  will  attend  to  all  that,  Roland ;  I  have  taken  charge 
o'  a'  ever  syne  the  deatn  o'  your  kindred ;  indeed,  it  is  sold 
already." 

Uncle  Malcolm  did  not  then  tell  Roland  the  he  was  him- 


310  WOODCLIFF. 

self  the  purchaser,  and  had  given  a  higher  price  than  any 
stranger  would  have  done. 

In  a  short  time,  all  was  arranged ;  Roland  received  a  hand 
some  price,  and  old  Jennie  Scott  was  sorely  distressed  at  the 
thought  of  a  stranger  in  the  old  manse. 

"Dinna  trouble  yourself,  Jennie,"  was  Malcolm's  word 
of  comfort;  "it  will  be  the  manse  s&ll,  a  guid  minister 
shall  abide  there,  and  Jennie  shall  be  the  woman  o'  a'  wark 
there  yet." 

She  kissed  Malcolm's  hand, — "  Ye're  a  guid  an'  faithfu' 
mon,  Mr. Graham,  an'  God  will  bless  ye  evermair." 

The  time  of  parting  had  arrived — Roland  was  grieved  to 
leave  the  dear  shelter  of  Graham  Hall,  for  it  was  indeed  to 
him  a  home,  and  its  master  a  kind  and  generous  father. 
Mrs.  Lindsay,  too,  had  been  like  a  dear  mother,  and  little 
Annot  clung  around  him,  and  cried  at  parting  with  "  dear 
Cousin  Roland." 

Edmund  could  not  leave  the  dear  home-circle  of 
Graham  Hall  without  deep  regret ;  and  as  he  bade  a  sor 
rowful  farewell  to  artless  Annot  Lindsay,  and  held  her 
little  hand  fondly  within  his  own,  he  whispered, 

"  I  shall  come  again,  Annot,  and  then  we  shall  have  the 
pleasant  walks  and  rides  once  more." 

She  dropped  her  sweet  eyes  on  the  ground,  then  raising 
them  to  Edmund's  face,  swimming  in  tears,  she  replied, 

"  I  shall  miss  ye,  Mr.  Norris,  so  vera,  vera  much ;  but 
ye'll  come  again,  an'  I'll  learn  so  mony  new  songs  just  for 
ye,  an'  nane  ither." 

Annot  stood  at  the  window  looking  at  the  carriage  as  it 
turned  away ;  and  ere  it  vanished  out  of  sight,  a  familiar 
face  smiled  at  her  from  the  back  of  the  carriage,  and  a 
hand  waved  a  last  farewell,  that  she  knew  was  Edmund's. 

Soon  in  London,  Malcolm  took  lodgings  for  himself, 
Mrs.  Douglass,  and  his  young  friends  ;  and  many  pleasant 
visits  did  they  pay  together  among  the  homes  of  the  des 
titute  ;  and  many  useful  hints  were  given  by  the  wise  and 
faithful  friend  to  Rolnnd  and  Edmund.  Riding  out  one 


GRAHAM    HALL.  311 

day,  Mr.  Graham  perceived  a  carriage  passing  close  by 
their  side.  It  contained  two  ladies,  one  remarkable  for 
her  beauty.  She  looked  startled,  blushed,  smiled,  waved  her 
hand,  and  was  gone. 

Roland  was  deeply  agitated, 

"  Who  was  that,  Roland  ?"  inquired  his  friend. 

"  That  was  Madeline  Hamilton,  Uncle  Malcolm,"  and 
Roland  dropped  his  eyes  beneath  the  earnest  look  of  his 
friend. 

"  Ye  never  told  me  that  she  was  in  London,  Roland." 

"No,  Uncle  Malcolm,  I  did  not." 

"And  why,  my  son,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  I  am  not  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Miss  Hamilton  now." 

"How  is  that,  Roland?" 

"  She  does  not  belong  to  my  world,  Uncle  Malcolm  ;  so 
her  relatives  think." 

Uncle  Malcolm  bit  his  lip,  as  he  replied  slowly, 

"  Does  Madeline  think  sae,  Roland?" 

"  I  think  not ;  she  is  simple-hearted,  truthful  as  a  child, 
above  all  that  is  sordid,  or  worldly ;  but  they  may  spoil  her 
here  in  London." 

Malcolm  read  at  once  the  whole  of  Roland's  secret. 

"  Ye  could  keep  up  intercourse  wi'  Miss  Hamilton  if  ye 
please,  Roland?" 

"  I  think  I  could,  Uncle  Malcolm ;  but  I  would  not  tempt 
her  from  the  path  of  duty." 

Malcolm  Graham  smiled,  a  bright  and  happy  smile ; 
for  in  the  future,  he  saw  a  path  so  high !  so  blessed  for  his 
dear  young  protege.  "  Looking  aloft  1"  in  the  right  sense 
thought  Malcolm,  "  and  God  will  take  care  o'  his  interests, 
for  time  and  eternity." 

"  Roland,  my  boy,  trust  in  God  ;  for  he  will  make  a' 
things  work  together  for  your  good.  "  Seek  first  the  king 
dom  o'  God  and  his  righteousness,  and  a'  these  things  shall 
be  added  unto  ye  ;  all  these  things,  Roland — whatever  is  for 
your  real  good." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

WINGS    CLIPPED    THAT    HAD    COMMENCED    TO    SOAE. 

MADELINE  is  in  a  new  atmosphere ;  silken  fetters  bind 
her  feet,  and  amid  the  ngvelty  of  scenes  so  different  from 
those  at  home,  gradually  the  world  acquires  an  ascendancy 
over  her  young  heart,  which  almost  ceases  to  converse  with 
itself. 

Her  journal  has  long  been  laid  aside ;  but  one  very  rainy 
day  she  opens  its  pages,  and  contrasts  her  present  state 
with  the  past.  Madeline  is  humbled ;  taking  up  her  pen, 
she  resumes  a  record  of  past  events  and  emotions.  She 
made  her  entries  for  only  a  few  weeks  after  her  arrival. 

"  London,  May  10th. — What  a  new  world  surrounds  me  1 
Ah,  so  novel,  so  different  from  New  York !  I  am  in  a  con 
stant  whirl  of  excitement,  with  scarcely  time  for  thought. 
We  have  brought  letters  of  introduction  from  Mr.  Leighton 
and  Mr.  Trevor  to  the  American  minister,  which  bring  us 
at  once  within  the  pale  of  London  life  among  the  haut-ton. 
Aunt  Matilda  is  delighted;  quite  in  her  element;  papa 
pleased  because  we  are,  but  he  looks  very  pale  and  languid. 
******* 

"  Yesterday  was  the  great  day ;  I  was  presented  to  the 
Queen  by  the  American  minister.  "I  wanted  to  see  Queen 
Victoria,  because  she  is  a  rare  example  of  a  good  wife  and 
mother  in  a  royal  circle.  It  was  a  magnificent  scene ; 
such  a  crowd  of  well-developed,  rosy  young  ladies ;  such 
splendid  dressing,  high-breeding,  and  courtly  grace,  I  have 
never  before  seen  !  I  understand  now  something  about 
the  rich  glow  ojj English  beauty;  but  the  Queen  interested 
(812) 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.      313 

me  most.  She  is  not  handsome,  but  there  was  a  benevo 
lent  glow  upon  her  face  when  she  addressed  me  personally, 
and  said  some  kind  things  about  my  country.  I  could  have 
kissed  her  hand,  but  I  suppose  that  would  not  have  been 
courtly  etiquette,  and  so  I  had  to  content  myself  with  per 
forming  the  difficult  ceremony  of  bowing  out  backwards ;  I 
did  not  fall,  and  that  is  all  I  can  say  about  the  manner. 
******* 

"  I  am  busy  in  returning  calls,  visiting  dress-makers, 

&c.,  for  we  are  invited  to  a  ball  at  the  Duke  of  D 's. 

I  wonder  if  I  ought  to  go,  and  leave  papa ;  Aunt  Matilda 
insists,  and  papa  wishes  it ;  it  will  take  place  next  week. 
******* 

"Well!  I  have  been  to  the  grand  ball;  a  great  crowd, 
magnificent  rooms,  superb  dressing,  a  train  of  admirers, 
scarcely  room  to  dance,  but  unable  to  accept  all  the  invita 
tions;  introduced  to  the  Earl  of  N ,  a  refined  and 

courtly  English  nobleman ;  his  wife,  the  Countess,  is  pecu 
liarly  pleasing ;  and  his  daughter,  the  Lady  Alice,  charm 
ing;  a  sweet,  artless  English  girl,  just  making  her  first 
appearance  in  gay  life.  I  don't  believe  that  she  relishes  it 
much.  Lord  N ,  the  son,  is  the  most  pleasing  gentle 
man  that  I  have  yet  met  in  London  ;  modest,  unassuming, 
gentlemanly,  and  intelligent,  and  sufficiently  good-looking 
to  captivate  the  majority  of  young  ladies.  His  attentions 
are  acceptable,  because  they  are  so  perfectly  respectful,  so 
unobtrusive. 

"  This  family  pleases  me  more  than  any  I  have  seen ; 
they  must  be  among  the  best  specimens  of  English  no 
bility. 

"  Aunt  Matilda  is  so  intoxicated,  by  moving  among 
nobles,  that  I  cannot  help  laughing ;  and  I  fear  that  she 
will  make  the  impression  that  she  is  really  not  accustomed 
to  good  society  ;  there  is  so  much  fuss  and  folly  about  her 
movements.  I  ought  not  to  write  this  of  Aunt  Matilda,  for 
she  is  so  good  and  kind  to  me ;  only  too  anxious  about  the 
27 


314  WOODCLIPF. 

number  of  conquests,  and  I  shrewdly  suspect  that  she  is 
meditating  one  herself. 

"Dined  yesterday  at  the  Earl  of  N 's,  in  company 

with  papa  and  Aunt  Matilda;  quite  a  family  dinner,  as 
dear  papa  avoids  much  company.  1  think  it  is  a  Christian 
family,  for  the  good  earl  asked  a  blessing  at  the  table  so 
reverently.  It  is  the  perfection  of  a  refined  household  ;  all 
so  easy,  so  quiet,  and  in  such  exquisite  taste ;  and  the  con 
versation  was  so  improving ;  no  frivolity,  but  a  high-toned 
intelligence,  that  made  it  really  a  privilege  to  be  one  of  the 
party.  I  find  that  they  do  not  mingle  much  with  the  gay 
world,  but  as  pilgrims  and  strangers,  they  are  '  in  the 
world,  but  not  of  the  world.'  I  am  thankful  that  we  have 
made  such  an  acquaintance. 

"  After  dinner,  Lady  Alice  led  the  way  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and,  in  company  with  her  brother,  entertained  us 
with  some  delightful  music,  and  showed  us  some  very  fine 
engravings  of  English  scenery. 

"I  have  been  to  an  English  opera;  the  music  was  fine, 
the  company  brilliant,  and  the  scene  altogether  fascinating. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening  the  Queen  of  England  en 
tered  ;  when  the  whole  audience  arose,  and  the  orchestra 
played  with  great  spirit  '  God  save  the  Queen.'  Her 
Majesty  acknowledged  the  compliment  by  a  gracious  bow, 
and  a  warm,  benevolent  smile ;  no  wonder  that  her  sub 
jects  love  her  so  truly.  These  late  hours  are  killing  to 
devotion ;  I  come  home  so  tired,  that  my  prayers  are  life 
less  and  formal.  I  wonder  if  papa  is  lonely  when  I  am 
away  ;  he  says  not,  for  he  is  very  fond  of  reading.  I  think 
that  he  reads  the  Bible  habitually  now.  When  I  ask  him 
anything  about  himself  he  smiles,  and  says  that  '  he  will 
be  better  soon.' 

"Lady  Alice  is  very  kind;  their  carriage  is  always  at 
our  disposal ;  she  has  taken  us  to  Westminster  Abbey,  St. 
Paul's,  the  Parks,  the  Zoological  Gardens,  the  British  Mu- 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAE.      315 

seum,  and  the  Picture  Galleries  ;  I  could  spend  days  at  the 
latter. 

"  My  good  aunt  has  taken  great  pains  to  let  it  be  known 
that  we  are  really  related  to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton ;  poh ! 
poh  !  that  is  so  foolish  !  We  are  truly  altogether  American, 
and  what  care  we  for  noble  birth ! 

"  Last  Sunday,  in  company  with  Lady  Alice,  I  visited 
one  of  the  Ragged  Schools  in  M Lane.  I  had  no  con 
ception  before  of  the  place.  A  very  large  room,  crowded 
with  children ;  some  clad  in  rags  and  filth,  others  were 
civilized ;  but  there  was  a  look  of  sensuality  among  them 
that  was  so  revolting.  It  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  so 
many  of  the  higher  classes,  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the 
loving  Master,  seeking  these  degraded  children.  I  was 
surprised  to  see  the  Lady  Alice  take  her  seat  so  humbly 
among  a  company  of  such  rough,  half-clad  girls ;  and  pleased 
to  see  the  look  of  grateful  respect  that  rested  upon  the  face 
of  more  than  one,  as  they  listened  to  the  instructions  of 
their  gentle  teacher. 

"  '  Do  you  teach  here  weekly,  Lady  Alice  ?'  I  asked  as 
soon  as  she  had  done.  '  That  is  my  privilege,  Miss  Ham 
ilton,  when  I  am  in  London,'  was  the  modest  reply. 

" '  Could  you  not  find  a  position  among  some  not  quite 
so  degraded  ?' 

" '  Yes ;  but  then  so  few  comparatively  are  willing  to 
come  here ;  and  then  you  know,  Miss  Hamilton,  that  our 
Master  did  not  scorn  the  lowest  sinner.' 

"  I  was  silent,  for  Lady  Alice  had  set  me  to  thinking. 

"  Suddenly,  I  was  surprised  by  the  sight  of  a  familiar 
form  ;  at  first,  only  the  back ;  but  I  could  not  be  mistaken 
— he  turned,  and  it  was  indeed  Roland  Bjuce !  How  did 
he  ever  come  here  ? 

"  He  advanced,  and  extended  his  warm,  strong  hand ; 
the  touch  was  magnetic — how  it  revived  the  dear  old  days 
around  Woodcliff!  How  strong  it  seemed!  Just  like 
the  staff  of  my  childhood;  not  only  the  staff,  but  the 


316  WOODCLIFP. 

sceptre  to  which  I  willingly  bowed.  He  inquired  how  I 
came  here,  and  I  told  him. 

"  '  Did  I  not  promise  you  that  I  would  visit  such  places  V 

"  He  looked  so  pleased,  and  then  told  me  why  he  was 
in  England,  and  that  he  expected,  ere  he  returned,  to  visit 
Scotland. 

"  The  earl's  family  attend  the  church  under  the  ministry 

of  the  Rev.  Mr.  B ,  not  for  its  grandeur,  but  purely  for 

the  simple  evangelical  preaching  of  its  earnest  pastor ;  but 
my  aunt  goes  with  the  Duke  of  D to  a  more  fashion 
able  church,  where  the  elite  attend,  but  where  there  is  little 
but  the  form  of  piety. 

"  It  is  a  great  privilege  to  attend  upon  such  a  ministry 

as  Mr.  B 's,  for  it  draws  my  thoughts  away  from  earth. 

The  earl's  family  are  all  members  of  the  Church  of  Eng 
land.  Last  Sunday,  all  four  partook  of  the  communion.  I 
felt  so  lonely,  so  conscience-stricken  when  they  all  arose 

and  left  me  in  the  pew.  After  church,  Lord  N said  to 

me  with  such  real  concern  upon  his  fine  face — 

"  '  I  am  sorry,  Miss  Hamilton,  to  find  that  you  are  not 
a  follower  of  the  Redeemer ;  why  is  it  so  ?' 

"  I  could  not  answer  for  one  minute,  but  at  last  replied — 

"  '  I  ought  to  be,  I  know ;  but  I  am  so  unworthy,  so 
worldly !' 

"  '  So  am  I  unworthy,  Miss  Hamilton ;  but  Jesus  is  all 
my  righteousness.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you,  one  so' — and 
he  stopped;  'I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  any  thing  but  a 
Christian.' 

"  '  Thank  you,  Lord  N ;  how  is  it  that,  surrounded 

by  so  much  to  draw  the  heart  from  God,  your  family  are 
all  so  different  from  the  rest  of  the  world  V 

"  '  In  the  world,  but  not  of  the  world,  Miss  Hamilton, 
is  my  answer ;  and  all  the  difference  consists  in  this — that 
by  the  grace  of  God  only,  we  are  what  you  see.' 

"  What  a  lovely  specimen  of  piety  in  high  life  is  here  1 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.    317 

'Tis  true,  that  not  many  of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth  are 
called  to  be  children  of  the  kingdom ;  but  there  are  some. 

"  Lord  N 's  remark  has  led  me  back  to  the  days  of 

former  seriousness.  Am  I  grieving  the  Spirit  of  God  by 
my  worldliness  ?  '  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  mammon'  is 
the  Saviour's  teaching ;  may  I  feel  its  power. 

"  The  earl's  family  are  going  down  to  Parkhurst  Manor, 
their  country-seat,  and  have  invited  us  to  accompany  them. 
Aunt  Matilda  would  rather  stay  amid  the  dissipation  of 
London  life ;  but  I  am  weary  of  it,  and  so  glad  to  go  into 
the  country;  and  then  it  will  be  better  for  papa,  dear 
papa !  I  wonder  if  he  is  any  better. 

****** 

"Parkhurst  Manor.  —  What  a  charming  home!  The 
entrance  to  the  mansion  is  through  a  splendid  park  of  trees 
of  ancient  growth,  and  the  grounds  most  beautifully  kept ; 
the  smooth  green  grass,  the  branching  elms  meeting  over 
the  avenue  which  leads  to  the  house,  forming  such  a  cool, 
green  arbor ;  the  sporting  deer  meeting  us  everywhere, 
some  looking  at  us  with  a  startled  look  in  their  soft,  brown 
eyes,  and  others  so  docile  that  they  walked  close  by  the 
side  of  the  carriage  ;  but  the  smile  of  the  honest  gatekeeper 
at  the  Lodge  was  the  best  welcome,  as  he  opened  the  gate, 
taking  off  his  hat,  and  saying — 

"  'You  are  welcome  back  to  the  manor,  my  Lord.' 

"  '  Thank  you,  James ;  I  hope  you  are  all  well  at  the 
Lodge.' 

"  In  another  minute,  two  rosy  little  girls  ran  across  the 
road,  and,  dropping  a  courtesy  before  the  carriage,  said — 

"  '  Welcome  back,  my  Lady,  we  are  so  glad  to  see  you ; 
is  Lady  Alice  there  ?' 

"  The  young  lady  smiled  upon  the  little  things,  and 
replied — 

"  '  Come  up  to  the  Hall  to-morrow,  I  have  something  for 
you,  my  little  girls,'  and  the  carriage  drove  on. 

"  The  house  is  a  large  and  elegant  mansion ;  I  scarcely 
27* 


318  WOODCL1FF. 

know  of  what  style  of  architecture,  but  much  of  it  is  ancient ; 
the  wings  are  of  more  modern  style,  the  windows  all  open 
ing  out  on  to  the  lawn.  From  the  second  story,  verandahs 
surround  the  mansion,  filled  with  most  rare  and  exquisite 
flowers.  The  grounds  are  laid  out  with  the  utmost  taste 
in  winding  paths ;  at  the  back  of  the  house  is  a  calm  lake, 
on  which  float  a  number  of  graceful  swans ;  pavilions, 
rustic  seats,  and  rural  bridges  over  several  small  streams 
which  flow  through  the  grounds,  and  shrubbery  of  the 
choicest  kind  adorn  the  walks ;  in  fine,  nothing  is  wanting 
to  make  this  another  Eden  of  delight.  I  revelled  in  the 
sights  and  sounds  around  me  with  inexpressible  pleasure ; 
but  the  sweetest  sight  of  all  was  the  meeting  between  the 
parents  and  their  dear  children,  who  came  running  to  greet 
them ;  two  sons,  the  one  nineteen,  the  other  seventeen, 
with  two  younger  girls,  so  artless !  so  simple  hearted ! 

"'Dear  papa!  dear  mamma!  you  have  come  at  last! 
Now,  it  is  dear  old  Parkhurst !  You  have  come  to  stay, 
have  you  not,  mamma?' and  the  little  Ladies  Julia  and 
Mary  seized  their  dear  mother's  hands,  as  if  afraid  that  she 
would  run  away  again.  Sweet,  precious  picture  of  domestic 
bliss ! 

"  The  children  were  not  in  the  habit  of  sitting  at  the 
table ;  but  this  was  a  holiday,  and  all  assembled  that  even 
ing  around  the  family  board,  as  a  great  treat,  in  company 
with  their  tutor. 

"  But,  although  brimful  of  joy,  the  little  girls  knew  bow 
to  be  quiet,  and  contented  themselves  with  looking  at  their 
beloved  parents  and  dear  brother  and  sister ;  and  the  young 
men  joined  very  modestly,  but  seldom,  in  the  general  con 
versation.  I  sat  near  the  little  girls,  and  once  I  heard 
them  whisper  to  each  other  about  the  books  which  mamma 
had  promised,  and  the  dolls  from  Lady  Alice. 

"  The  countess  glanced  kindly,  but  reprovingly,  at  the 
children,  as  she  said — 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.      319 

"  '  My  little  girls  are  forgetting  mamma's  rules  at  the 
table  ;  there  must  be  no  whispering.' 

"  'Excuse  us,  dear  mamma,'  replied  the  Lady  Julia,  'we 
were  wondering  about  the  books  and  dolls.' 

"  After  supper,  a  bell  summoned  us  to  evening  worship 
in  the  chapel,  whither  the  countess  led  the  way,  and  the 
tutor,  who  is  a  young  clergyman,  conducted  the  devotions, 
while  Lady  Alice  presided  at  the  organ.  Thanks  for  the 
return  of  the  parents  were  included  in  the  service,  and,  at 
the  close,  the  dear  children  were  dismissed  with  a  loving 
kiss  from  both  parents. 

"  Happy  household !  trained  thus  from  infancy  for  Hea 
ven,  what  a  calm  and  holy  atmosphere  prevails  everywhere 
at  Parkhurst !  The  echoes  of  sweet  Sabbath  chimes  ever 
softly  ringing,  and  sanctifying  the  simpler  acts  of  its  daily 
life.  I  am  so  glad  to  be  here ;  such  a  contrast  to  many  of 
the  gay  and  worldly  families  of  London,  where  all  seem 
bent  upon  ignoring  entirely  their  immortality. 

"  The  next  morning  after  our  arrival,  the  family  carriage 
and  three  fine  horses  were  drawn  up  before  the  door. 

"  '  We  want  to  show  you  some  of  the  beauties  around 
Parkhurst,'  said  the  earl,  'and  concluded  that  the  young 
people  would  prefer  the  saddle.  I  presume  that  you  ride, 
Miss  Hamilton ;  we  English  people  are  famous  riders.' 

"  Lord  N ,  Lady  Alice,  and  I  mounted ;  papa  and 

Aunt  Matilda  occupied  the  landau  with  the  earl  and  count 
ess.  We  had  a  most  delightful  excursion  among  the  green 
lanes  of. 'old  England,'  breathing  the  cool  morning  air.  It 
is,  indeed,  a  garden  of  sweets ;  the  high  cultivation  every 
where,  the  country  residences,  the  rural  cottages,  all  with 
their  flowers  and  trees,  and  the  reverence  with  which  the 
family  of  the  earl  was  everywhere  greeted,  made  this  ride 
highly  gratifying.  I  find  a  most  regular,  systematic  house 
hold,  the  heads  of  the  family  each  having  especial  hours  of 
retirement ;  the  children  their  periods  of  study,  recreation, 


320  WOODCLIFF. 

and  out-door  exercise.     After  morning  worship,  the  family 
scattered  to  their  several  avocations. 

"  '  You  are  at  home,  Miss  Hamilton,'  said  Lady  Alice, 
leading  the  way  to  the  library ;  '  I  read  two  hours  daily, 
a  course  laid  down  by  my  former  tutor,  and  I  presume  that 
you  would  like  to  do  the  same.  Mamma  visits  the  school 
room  daily,  and  makes  inquiries  of  the  tutor  about  the 
children,  but  she  does  not  interfere ;  she  has  one  in  whom 
she  places  perfect  confidence,  and  she  aids,  not  thwarts,  his 
plans  for  their  improvement;  the  exercises  of  the  school 
room  are  no  more  disturbed  than  if  they  were  all  away  at 
school.  Mamma  is  too  sensible  for  that.' 

"  We  chose  our  books,  took  our  seats  at  separate  tables, 
and  enjoyed  two  delightfully  private  hours  —  'tis  true  that 
Lord  N knocked  at  the  door,  and  just  peeped  in  once. 

"  '  No  admission,  brother,'  said  the  Lady  Alice,  with  an 
arch  smile ;  '  we  are  very  busy  now ;  you  know  that  we 
all  read  at  this  hour;  go  get  your  books,  like  a  good  boy,' 
and  springing  from  her  seat,  she  opened  the  door  wide, 
threw  her  arms  around  her  brother's  neck,  and  kissed  him, 
saying,  'now  go,  Alfred.' 

"  '  This  is  the  way  she  rules  me,  Miss  Hamilton  ;  I  dare 
not  disobey  my  precise  little  sister ;  so  adieu,  ladies !' 

"  Two  hours  at  the  piano  closed  the  studies  of  the  Lady 
Alice.  I  observed  a  harp  in  the  drawing-room,  and  while 
she  was  occupied  in  the  music-room,  I  took  advantage  of 
the  time,  to  refresh  my  almost  forgotten  pieces.  I  had 
brought  some  new  music  with  me,  and  was  glad  to  find 
that  I  had  so  much  leisure. 

"  '  I  suppose  that  I  may  venture  to  intrude,'  said  Lord 

N }  at  the  close  of  my  practice ;  and  another  hour  was 

spent  in  entertaining  my  young  host,  who  is  a  passionate 
lover  of  music,  and  who  accompanied  me  with  the  flute. 

"  Out  on  the  verandah,  Lady  Alice  observed,  'There  come 
my  little  girls  from  the  Lodge,'  and  running  to  her  room, 
she  brought  out  several  books,  and  a  new  dress  for  each. 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.     321 

Little  Mary  and  Bessie  Bond  were  modest  children,  and  as 
they  dropped  a  courtesy  to  their  young  lady,  she  handed 
them  the  gifts  which  she  had  brought. 

"  '  Thank  you,  Lady  Alice,  you  are  very  good,'  said  the 
elder. 

"  Dinner  at  five,  where  a  select  number  of  friends  joined 
our  party.  The  breakfast  costume  is  simple  lawn  or 
muslin  wrappers,  with  a  pretty  cap  for  the  countess ;  bub 
the  dress  for  dinner  was  more  elegant — rich  silk  dresses, 
with  low  neck  and  short  sleeves,  hair  handsomely  arranged, 
with  rich  head-dresses  for  the  elder  ladies,  simpler  for  the 
young,  and  a  moderate  addition  of  fine  jewelry. 

"  There  was  much  more  ceremony  at  this  meal,  though 
nothing  was  oppressive ;  it  was  felt  to  be  the  etiquette  of 
high-bred  English  life.  The  conversation  was  general,  im 
proving,  entertaining ;  personalities  were  strictly  avoided, 
and  it  was  evident  that  the  earl  had  gathered  around  him 
a  party  of  pleasing,  intelligent,  refined  English  people ; 
even  two  or  three  frivolous  young  ladies  were  held  in  check 
by  the  general  tone  of  sentiment. 

"  We  walked  in  the  Park  after  dinner,  and  the  game-keeper 
amused  us  highly  by  a  summons  to  his  feathered  charge. 
Making  a  certain  call,  in  a  moment  crowds  of  rooks  were 
seen  emerging  from  their  own  domicile,  which  was  quite  a 
large  building  for  birds  only.  They  clustered  around  him, 
on  his  head,  his  shoulders,  his  hands,  and  wherever  they 
could  obtain  a  footing,  while  crowds  congregated  around 
his  feet,  making  their  own  peculiarly  coarse,  unpleasant 
cawing ;  indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  quite  a  familiar  intimacy 
between  him  and  his  dark-feathered  favorites. 

"At  another  call,  the  deer  came  bounding  towards  him  ; 
it  was  such  a  pretty  picture  of  the  power  of  kindness  over 
the  dumb  creation  ;  it  pleased  me  especially,  for  I  do  so 
love  the  world  of  animals.  I  found  that  I  might  pat  the 
gentle  fawns,  and  by  a  few  kind  words  draw  them  towards 
me,  rubbing  their  pretty  heads  against  my  hands,  and  look 
ing  up  in  my  face  with  their  confiding,  soft  brown  eyes. 


322  WOODCLIFF. 

I  thought  of  the  time  when  '  the  wolf  also  shall  dwell  with 
the  lamb,  and  the  leopard  shall  lie  down  with  the  kid  ;  and 
the  calf  and  the  young  lion,  and  the  fatling  together;  and 
a  little  child  shall  lead  them.'  Happy  period  of  millennial 
blessedness !  for  then  the  fiercest  will  have  parted  with 
their  savage  nature.  This  day  was  a  pretty  general  picture 
of  the  daily  life  at  Parkhurst  Manor  —  so  domestic!  so 
purifying!  so  elevating!  Then  the  sweet  worship  of  the 
chapel !  By  what  holy  ties  does  this  family  seem  bound 
together!  thus  privileged  to  worship  God  as  one  family. 
It  has  its  soothing  effect  upon  my  spirit  —  everything  here 
draws  one  upward,  even  surrounded  as  we  are  by  wealth 
and  elegance.  God  is  in  all,  and  over  all.  This  is  the  per 
fection  of  human  life. 

****** 

"  Yesterday  was  Sunday  at  Parkhurst — what  a  holy  day! 
The  children  take  their  meals  with  us  on  that  day.  No  late 
hours  on  that  sacred  morning — so  quiet,  so  refreshing  was 
the  sweet  early  morning  hour ! 

"  The  earl  paused  after  the  blessing  was  asked — 

'"Now,  my  children,  for  our  texts.'  The  father  and 

mother  reverently  repeated  theirs ;  Lord  N ,  and  Lady 

Alice  followed,  then  each  of  the  children  repeated  seriously 
the  Sunday  text.  It  was  a  touching  lesson  ;  this  reverence 
for  God's  holy  word !  This  was  practical  obedience  to  the 
command  which  says, 

"  'And  thou  shalt  teach  them  diligently  unto  thy  children, 
and  shall  talk  of  them  when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house,  and 
when  thou  walkest  by  the  way,  and  when  thou  liest  down, 
and  when  thou  risest  up.' 

"As  I  listened,  I  could  easily  understand  how  much  they 
must  learn  in  a  whole  year. 

" '  Our  children  are  very  anxious  to  remember  all  these 
texts,  Miss  Hamilton,'  said  the  earl;  'they  also  learn  a 
daily  text  with  their  instructors,  and  once  a  month  repeat 
all  to  me ;  all  who  remember  them  perfectly,  are  rewarded 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.    323 

with  a  handsome  book ;  you  have  no  idea  how  their  library 
grows  in  this  way,  and  what  a  stock  of  Scripture  knowledge 
they  obtain.' 

"  Soon  upon  the  quiet  Sabbath  air,  stole  the  sweet  chimes 
of  the  village-bells;  and  when  we  started,  in  every  direc 
tion  might  be  seen  the  villagers  in  their  best  attire,  crowd 
ing  to  the  house  of  God.  It  was  a  pleasant  picture  to  see 
the  dear  children  of  the  Manor  in  their  simple  white  dresses, 
straw-hats,  and  white  ribbon,  with  the  daintiest  little  rose 
buds  for  face  trimmings ;  and  the  lowly,  gentle  reverence 
with  wThich  they  all  joined  in  the  service  of  the  Church 
of  England,  did  touch  my  heart  so  deeply.  Then  so 
many  of  the  earl's  tenants  were  there,  and  all  his  domes 
tics  excepting  such  as  were  positively  necessary  at  home, 
who  took  their  turn  at  the  afternoon-service.  The  services 
were  delightful  in  that  quiet  country  church,  and  the  ser 
mon  earnest,  faithful,  Christlike.  After  church,  the  family 
of  the  earl  remained  a  short  time ;  many  of  the  parishio 
ners  received  his  friendly  greetings,  and  the  kind  saluta 
tions  of  the  good  countess ;  but  it  was  not  for  this  that 
they  remained.  The  earl  took  my  hand,  and  led  me  to 
that  part  of  the  church  where  a  marble  slab  pointed  out 
the  final  resting-place  of  the  earl's  family. 

"Among  other  inscriptions,  I  read  :  '  Sacred  to  the  me 
mory  of  Augusta,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Earl  and  Countess 

of  N ,  aged  eighteen — Asleep  in  Jesus.' 

"  The  parents  stood  awhile  in  silence  by  the  vault ;  the 
mother  wiped  a  silent  tear,  and  the  earl,  turning  to  me 
said, — 

'"My  dear  Miss  Hamilton,  I  brought  you  here  to  impress 
the  lessons  of  mortality ;  there  is  much  around  you,  my 
dear  young  lady,  to  draw  your  thoughts  to  earth ;  but  here 
you  see  the  young,  the  gifted,  the  rich,  the  beautiful  must 
lie  down  at  last  in  the  silent  grave  ;  let  this  moderate  your 
estimate  of  the  things  of  time  and  sense,  and  teach  you 
to  set  your  young  affections  chiefly  on  things  above.  The 


324  WOODCLIFP. 

dear  one  who  lies  there  had  early  learned  the  lesson ;  she 
was  a  Christian,  she  died  in  the  Lord,  and  we  shall  meet 
her  again.' 

"  We  turned  away ;  I  can  never  forget  that  impressive 
lesson.  We  returned  with  serious  thoughts  to  the  carriage, 
and  I  felt  'Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity.' 

"  The  conversation  at  dinner  turned  upon  the  subject  of 
the  sermon ;  it  was  cheerful,  subdued,  befitting  the  sacred 
day.  No  Sunday  rides,  no  Sunday  visiting,  but  all  breathed 
of  holiness  and  heaven. 

"After  dinner,  we  all  assembled  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  before  evening  worship,  all  joined  in  singing  hymns, 
and  other  sacred  music. 

"  Lady  Alice  played,  Lord  N accompanied  with  the 

flute ;  and  all,  old  and  young,  father,  mother,  tutor,  gover 
ness,  and  children  joined  in  the  sweet  hymns. 

"As  we  sang,  I  thought — what  memories  are  here  for 
these  dear  children !  Even  though  they  may  lose  these 
precious  parents  —  will  they  not  follow  them  always  '  to 
keep  their  souls  from  blight?' 

"  Sweet  Christian  Sabbath  !     I  never  spent  such  before. 

"  It  had  added  another  step  to  the  family-ladder,  and 
hung  another  link  to  the  golden  chain ;  by  one  mounting 
upward,  and  by  the  other  united,  to  the  family  of  the  re 
deemed  in  Heaven.  Its  holy  chants,  heavenly  hymns,  and 
solemn  prayer  seem  here  to  go  with  us  through  the  cares 
and  trials  of  the  Mondays  and  Tuesdays  of  this  mortal 
state ;  until  blotting  out  all  earthly  days,  the  earthly  and 
heavenly  Sabbath  glideth  into  one  —  one  eternal  day  of 
holy  rest. 

"And  thus  it  seems  at  Parkhurst — the  spirit  of  the  Sab 
bath  is  with  us  all  the  week. 

"  On  Monday,  I  observed  an  unusual  number  of  persons 
coming  up  the  avenue,  generally  of  the  poorer  classes. 

"  Curiosity  led  me  to  ask  Lady  Alice,  'What  brings  so 
many  to-day.'  'If  you  will  come  with  me,  I  will  show 


T7INGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  BOAR.    325 

you,  Miss  Hamilton,'  and  she  led  me  to  her  moxher's  small 
room,  where,  seated  at  a  table,  she  seemed  awaiting  her 
visitors. 

"  On  the  table  stood  a  writing-desk,  and  by  her  side  a 
pocket-book,  evidently  containing  money. 

'"Sit  down,  Miss  Hamilton,'  said  the  countess. 

"  Each  one  had  her  tale  to  tell,  of  sorrow,  difficulty,  or 
poverty.  The  countess  listened  patiently,  kindly  to  all, 
gave  judicious  Christian  advice,  and  bestowed  upon  a  cer 
tain  number  her  weekly  allowance  for  the  aged,  the  sick, 
the  struggling  with  life's  cares  and  toils. 

"  I  could  not  describe  the  deep  respect  which  I  felt  for 
this  lady  in  high  rank,  so  surrounded  by  temptations  to 
selfishness ;  turning  aside  so  humbly,  so  gently,  to  listen 
to  the  tales  of  sorrow  and  privation,  from  the  humble 
poor.  They  evidently  regarded  her  as  a  superior  being,  and 
I  could  but  say  '  What  has  grace  wrought !' 

"  Upon  inquiry,  I  find  that  this  is  the  habit  of  the  coun 
tess,  on  every  Monday  morning,  to  meet  the  women  of  the 
neighborhood,  while  her  husband  appoints  another  day  to 
meet  the  men  for  the  same  purpose. 

"  What  an  influence  must  this  exert  for  good !  I  find  that 
even  the  children  have  their  Saving  Fund  from  which  to 
draw  for  their  charities  ;  for  during  the  interview,  Lady 
Julia  entered  modestly,  and  said, 

" '  Dear  mamma,  here  is  our  money  for  the  little  girls,' 
and  the  good  countess  smiled  upon  her  daughter,  as  she  re 
plied, 

" '  Mrs.  McBride  and  Mrs.  Rhyle  want  Sunday  dresses 
for  their  little  girls,  that  they  may  go  to  Sunday-school,  and 
this  is  just  enough,  Julia.' 

"  The  child  looked  very  happy  as  she  tripped  away,  and 
Mrs.  Rhyle  said,  '  What  a  sweet  young  lady  she  is !' 
******* 

"Yesterday,  the  good  pastor  dined  with  us;  the  conver 
sation  was  all  about  plans  for  good  among  the  people ;  and 
28 


326  WOODCLIFF. 

it  could  scarcely  be  seen  which  was  most  interested,  the 
good  pastor,  or  the  noble  earl,  in  their  benevolent  schemes. 

"  The  wife  was  an  interesting  English  lady,  and  much 
of  the  side  talk  between  the  mothers,  was  about  the  dear 
children  of  the  Parsonage ;  for  the  good  countess/  loved  the 
gentle  wife  of  the  humble  pastor,  and  knew  that  this  was 
the  subject  that  pleased  her  most. 

******* 

"  I  have  such  a  pleasant  room  adjoining  the  Lady  Alice, 
both  opening  to  a  verandah,  where  we  spend  much  of  our 
time  among  the  flowers.  My  room  is  daily  supplied  with 
the  most  exquisite,  which  Betty,  my  English  maid,  brings 

every  morning,  with   '  the  compliments  of  Lord  N .' 

She  always  seems  amused  ;  but  it  is  just  politeness,  and  as 
such,  I  receive  them. 

"  But  lately,  I  have  been  a  little  disturbed ;  Lady  Alice 

sometimes -throws  out  gentle  hints,  and  Lord  N is  more 

than  polite,  I  fear ;  I  should  be  so  sorry,  for  I  do  esteem 
him  so  highly. 

"  This  morning  he  was  passing  under  the  verandah ; 
looking  up,  he  said,  smiling,  'May  I  join  you,  sister?'  and 
receiving  permission,  he  came  up  through  a  back  staircase, 
and  joined  us  on  the  verandah. 

"  '  You  look  very  much  like  Flora,  Miss  Hamilton,  among 
these  flowers ;  they  are  so  bright,  and  you  so  much  like 
their  queen.' 

"  This  was  the  first  direct  compliment  that  Lord  N 

ever  paid  me,  and  I  know  that  I  blushed.  I  did  not  reply, 
for  I  am  awkward  at  answering  compliments.  I  simply 
turned  the  subject,  but  he  selected  a  moss  rose-bud 

"  '  Will  you  wear  my  flower,  Miss  Hamilton  ?'  he  whis 
pered,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  I  knew  not  what  to  say. 

'"With  pleasure,' was  my  reply,  '  if  you  jrill  give  the 
same  to  Lady  Alice.' 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.    327 

"  '  Then  you  will  seem  like  sisters;  thank  you,  Miss  Ha 
milton.' 

"  I  had  not  perceived  the  use  that  he  might  make  of  my 
answer,  and  I  was  therefore  silent. 

"  Lady  Alice  was  greatly  pleased  when  she  placed  her 
bouquet  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress  ;  I  was  rather  annoyed 
when  I  looked  at  mine — she  whispered, 

"  '  Would,  dear  Madeline,  that  it  were  so.' 

"  I  must  be  circumspect ;  not  for  worlds  would  I  wound 
the  hearts  of  these  dear  friends. 

"  They  are  dear  as  valued  friends,  for  they  have  been  a 
great  blessing  to  me ;  I  must  pay  them  with  truth  and 
candor ;  and  yet  this  passing  fancy  of  mine  may  only  be 
the  result  of  personal  vanity ;  I  will  banish  the  whole  from 
my  memory,  ashamed  that  it  ever  entered  my  foolish  brain. 
Aunt  Matilda  does  annoy  me,  she  says  so  many  silly  things 
when  I  am  alone  with  her ;  if  she  continues  to  talk  so  about 

Lord  N ,  it  will  destroy  all  our  friendly  intercourse,  and 

I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  London.  I  am  so  afraid  that  she 
will  make  her  fancies  plain  to  the  family,  and  that  would 
be  more  than  I  could  endure. 

"Yesterday  we  had  company  to  dinner;  the  conversation 
turned  upon  England  and  America.  One  gentleman  was 
evidently  prejudiced,  and  spoke  disparagingly  of  our  coun 
try.  I  felt  the  blood  rise  to  my  face,  for  he  did  not  speak 
the  truth.  The  good  earl  came  to  the  rescue. 

" '  Have  you  ever  been  in  America,  Sir  Edward,  or  met 
many  of  its  people  ?' 

"  '  I  have  not,'  was  the  reply,  with  some  embarrass 
ment. 

"  '  Then,  I  think,  sir,  that  you  should  withhold  your  judg 
ment  with  regard  to  our  American  cousins ;  some  of  the 
most  intelligent,  frank,  and  gentlemanly  persons  that  I 
have  ever  met,  have  come  from  that  country.' 

" '  I  have  read  travels,  my  lord,  and  have  received  my 


328  WOODCLIFF. 

impressions  from  such  writers  as  D'ckens,  Mrs.  Trollopo, 
&c.' 

"  '  Indeed,  Sir  Edward,  I  never  was  more  heartily  ashamed 
than  when  I  read  Dickens's  book;  after  receiving  so  many 
hospitalities,  to  return  them  with  such  prejudiced  accounts 
of  his  sojourn, — I  for  one  do  not  believe  them  ;  I  have  met 
some  of  the  American  clergy,  and  authors,  and  other  dis 
tinguished  men,  and,  as  a  true  and  loyal  Englishman,  I  can 
say  that  I  have  never  met  more  refinement,  intelligence,  or 
sterling  worth,  than  among  the  Americans.' 

"  'Thank  you,  my  lord,'  I  replied,  for  I  could  no  longer 
keep  silent ;  '  it  has  always  seemed  so  strange  that  there 
should  be  any  rivalries  between  us,  for  are  we  not  the 
same  people  ?  the  same  language,  the  same  descent,  and 
the  same  religious  faith  ?  For  my  part,  I  am  willing  to 
acknowledge  the  great  debt  we  owe  to  England.  From 
her,  we  have  our  finest  authors,  the  very  gems  of  litera 
ture  ;  from  her,  the  noblest  specimens  of  philanthropy  and 
genius;  and  from  her,  our  Christian  faith,  and  the  very 
formulas  in  which  we  worship  God.'  I  blushed,  and  drew 
back,  for  I  had  not  been  aware  how  long  a  speech  I  was 
making,  until  I  saw  the  look  of  approbation  in  the  earl's 
countenance,  and  the  warm  glow  upon  Lord  N 's. 

"  '  These  are  noble  sentiments,  Miss  Hamilton,'  said  the 
good  earl.  '  I  was  always  sorry  for  the  obstinacy  of  George 
the  Third ;  for  through  him  we  lost  those  colonies  which 
are  now  merged  into  so  great  a  nation.' 

11 '  But  perhaps,'  remarked  my  father,  '  we  might  not  have 
been  what  we  are,  if  we  were  still  under  monarchical  rule ; 
our  free  institutions  have  spurred  on  enterprise  of  every 
kind,  and  started  us  as  a  nation  far  ahead  in  many  things  ' 

"  '  I  am  a  true,  staunch  Englishman,'  replied  the  earl, 
'  and  am  not  willing  to  own  that  anything  can  be  better 
than  the  mild  and  beneficent  rule  of  our  gracious  Queen 
Victoria,  under  the  good  constitution  of  old  England.  I 
think  you  Americans  are  too  fast,  and  are  growing  to  be  so 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.    329 

large,  as  almost  to  become  unwieldy ;  this  is  what  I  fear 
for  America;  her  very  freedom  may  be  abused.' 

"  '  We  are  a  driving  people,  my  lord,  fast  in  every  way ; 
in  enterprise,  in  business,  in  habits  of  living ;  in  fine,  I  fear, 
with  you,  too  fast;  too  reckless  in  modes  of  making  money ; 
and  in  many  quarters  I  see  signs  of  corruption,  which  must 
bring  upon  us  God's  judgments ;  I  fear,  my  lord,  sometimes 
for  the  future  of  my  beloved  country,  for  God  rules  among 
the  nations,  as  well  as  among  individuals.' 

"  '  May  God  preserve  America  to  be  a  bright  example  of  a 
fine,  intelligent,  and  virtuous  people,'  said  the  good  earl ; 
'  and  now,  Mr.  Hamilton,  let  me  give  you  a  toast — 

"  'America,  the  stalwart  child  of  Old  England — may  they 
go  side  by  side,  in  all  that  is  good,  and  great,  and  glorious !' 

"And  then  my  father  responded, 

"  '  Queen  Victoria,  and  the  realm  of  Great  Britain — may 
she  long  be  spared  to  bless  her  great  dominions.' 

"  Both  toasts  were  drunk  standing. 

"  Sir  Edward  sat  rather  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  meal,  and 
the  good  earl  patted  me  kindly  on  the  head  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  said, 

"  '  Yours  is  a  warm  and  noble  heart,  Miss  Hamilton ;  may 
it  find  its  mate  in  good  old  England.' 

"  What  does  the  earl  mean  ?  I  hope  nothing  with  refer 
ence  to  his  son ;  I  should  be  truly  distressed. 

"Another  bunch  of  flowers  from  Lord  N ;  they  are  very, 

very  sweet ;  but  I  laid  them  by  the  side  of  the  old  withered 
sea-weed,  and  their  charm  was  gone. 

"  Ah,  Roland !  do  you  cherish  the  little  shoe  and  the 
child's  picture  yet ! 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

"  My  father  is  worse,  I  see  it  daily ;  he  is  losing  his  spirits, 
and  the  earl  seems  distressed. 

"Am  I  to  lose  my  father,  my  dearest  earthly  tie?     He 
sent  for  me  to-day  to  come  to  his  room.    He  looked  so  sad, 
sitting  in  his  large  easy  chair.     He  took  me  on  his  lap,  as 
28* 


330  WOODCLIFF. 

when  I  was  wild  little  Mad-cap.  '  Madeline,  my  daughter, 
I  sent  for  you,  because  I  have  much  to  say.  I  am  not  so 
well,  my  child  ;  indeed,  the  signs  in  my  case  warn  me  that 
I  have  not  much  longer  to  live.  I  have  arranged  every 
thing  for  you;  you  are  left  independent,  with  none  to 
trammel  you,  and  the  power  to  choose  your  own  guardian. 
I  can  trust  you,  Madeline,  in  all  things;  I  could  have 
wished  to  leave  you  under  the  care  of  a  wise  and  faithful 
companion,  worthy  of  my  daughter ;  but  that  is  a  subject 
"in  which  I  shall  not  bind  you ;  you  are  free  to  choose  there 
wholly  for  yourself.  I  shall  not  live,  Madeline,  to  cross  the 
ocean.'  O,  how  my  heart  sank !  I  bowed  my  head  on  his 
dear  shoulder,  and  wept  convulsively.  '  Do  not  speak  so, 
dear  papa,  I  cannot  bear  it,'  was  my  answer. 

"  He  smoothed  my  hair,  impressed  warm  kisses  on  my 
cheek,  and  soothed  my  troubled  spirit  with  kind  and  loving 
words.  '  And  now,  Madeline,  with  regard  to  higher  sub 
jects,  I  would  say  that  my  residence  in  this  holy  family  has 
not  been  in  vain.  I  have  long  been  in  the  habit  of  reading 
the  Scriptures ;  the  good  earl  has  manifested  the  deepest 
interest  in  my  spiritual  welfare ;  he  visits  me  every  even 
ing  in  my  room ;  and  it  is  owing  to  his  influence  that  I 
have  been  led  to  consider  the  need  of  preparation  for  another 
world.  I  have  renounced  all  dependence  upon  my  moral 
life,  and  look  only  to  the  Blessed  Saviour  for  salvation  in 
the  world  to  come.  It  is  my  desire,  Madeline,  to  testify 
my  faith  in  His  atoning  sacrifice  next  Sunday,  in  the  vil 
lage  church,  at  the  table  of  our  Lord ;  are  you  not  ready, 
my  darling,  to  accompany  me  in  the  solemn  act  ?'  I  could 
not  answer  my  father,  for  mingled  feelings  of  joy  and  sor 
row  filled  my  heart;  floods  of  happiness  at  the  humble  de 
claration  of  his  faith,  and  unspeakable  sorrow  at  the  thought 
of  parting  from  one  so  beloved.  I  promised  my  dear  parent 
to  think  upon  the  subject,  for  I  had  lately  longed  for  the 
blessed  privilege. 

"  I  sought  the  room  of  the  countess,  and  confided  to  her 
the  subject  of  our  conversation. 


WINGS  CLIPPED  THAT  HAD  COMMENCED  TO  SOAR.    331 

"'Would  you  like  to  see  our  pastor,  Miss  Hamilton'?' 
was  the  kind  suggestion,  and  the  good  lady  sent  for  her 
faithful  guide. 

"  He  was  so  good,  so  gentle,  so  Christ-like  that  I  could 
easily  tell  him  the  whole  history  of  my  inner  life. 

"  'Are  you  resting  wholly,  my  dear  Miss  Hamilton,  upon 
the  merits  of  the  Redeemer  for  salvation?' 

"  '  Wholly,  entirely,  my  dear  sir,  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  I  can  say,  "  None  but  Jesus."  ' 

"  'Are  you  willing  to  devote  yourself,  soul  and  body,  to 
your  Master's  service,  my  child  ?' 

"  '  That  is  my  desire,  and  has  long  been  the  language  of 
my  heart.' 

"  '  Then  come,  and  welcome,  to  the  table  of  the  Lord,  my 
dear  child ;  Jesus  will  not  reject  such  as  you.' 

*  *  *  *v*  *  * 

"  Last  Sunday,  for  the  first  time,  by  my  father's  side,  I 
bowed  at  the  table  of  my  Lord  and  Master ;  received  the 
emblems  of  His  dying  love,  and  promised  to  be  His  forever. 
O,  what  a  precious  privilege  !  And  then  by  the  side  of  my 
dear  father.  Now  we  are  one  in  the  most  sacred  of  all 
bonds.  After  church,  the  countess  pressed  a  warm  kiss 
upon  my  cheek,  and  said,  '  One  in  Jesus,  dear  Madeline ;' 
the  Lady  Alice  pressed  my  hand  in  silence;  and  Lord 
N looked  so  very  happy. 

"  Bless  God  for  this  sweet  sanctuary  of  a  Christian 
home !  My  father  says  that  we  must  go  back  to  London  ; 
and  when  we  reach  there  he  will  tell  me  why,  saying, 
'  Trust  all  to  God,  dear  Madeline ;  whatever  he  wills  is 
right.'  Aunt  Matilda  is  pleased  with  the  idea;  for  the 
quiet  of  country  life  does  not  suit  her.  She  is  only  sorry 

at  leaving  Lord  N ,  but  says  that  '  he  will  soon  follow 

us.'  I  wish  that  she  would  not  talk  such  folly,  nor  such 
nonsense  about  old  Lord  C ,  who  was  really  quite  de 
voted  to  aunty  when  in  London." 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

PARTING    FROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS. 

THE  noble  park  and  green  lanes  of  Parkhurst,  with  all  its 
elevating  joys,  were  soon  to  be  exchanged  for  private  lodg 
ings  in  a  crowded  city;  and  Madeline's  spirits  sank  as  she 
contemplated  a  return  to  London  with  her  beloved  parent ; 
for  she  could  no  longer  blind  herself  to  the  fact  that  day  by 
day  he  was  fading  from  her  sight. 

Standing  alone,  on  the  evening  before  her  departure  on 
the  verandah,  where  she  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours, 
she  was  indulging  in  mournful  reveries  ;  she  should  prob 
ably  see  this  beautiful  park,  this  happy  home,  these  charm 
ing  scenes  no  more. 

While  musing  thus,  Lord  N passed  under  the  veran 
dah. 

"  May  I  come  up,  Miss  Hamilton  ?" 

"  If  you  wish,  my  Lord ;  I  am  alone,  and  would  be  glad 
to  see  you." 

The  step  of  the  young  man  was  not  gay  and  joyous  as 
on  other  days,  and  Madeline  perceived  that  he  wore  a 
serious,  saddened  countenance. 

"  You  leave  us,  to-morrow,  Miss  Hamilton  ;  may  I  ask  a 
place  in  your  remembrance  ?" 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  pleasant  hours  at  Parkhurst, 

Lord  N ,  or  the  dear  friends  that  I  have  made  in  this 

happy  home." 

He  was  silent  for  one  moment,  and  then  with  deeper 
feeling  said, 

"  But  may  I  not  ask  a  particular  place  in  your  remem- 
(882) 


PARTING    FROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  333 

brance,  a  nearer,  dearer  than  a  passing  acquaintance,  that 
will  be  forgotten  in  a  day  ?" 

"  I  do  number  you,  my  lord,  among  my  most  valued 
friends ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  you  personally." 

"  Ah,  Madeline  !  the  memory  will  not  be  to  you  what  it 
will  ever  be  to  me — the  one  green  spot  in  life,  which  I  shall 
cherish  so  fondly."  I 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  was  silent ;  for  painful  emo 
tions  were  stirring  in  her  heart,  and  tears  were  crowding 
beneath  the  drooping  eyelids. 

"  Madeline,  we  may  not  meet  again ;  I  cannot  let  you 
leave  us  without  asking,  is  there  any  hope  that  I  may  ob 
tain  the  rich  love  of  your  noble,  fresh  young  heart  ?" 

She  turned  a  frank  look  upon  the  young  man,  while  her 
eyes  swam  in  tears,  as  she  replied, 

"  I  cannot  deceive  you,  Lord  N ;  my  deepest  re 
spect  and  warmest  friendship  are  yours,  but  my  love  I  can 
not  give." 

"  Why,  Madeline  ?  does  another  possess  that  which  I 
would  make  any  earthly  sacrifice  to  obtain  ?" 

"  That  is  a  delicate  question,  Lord  N ;  my  hand  is 

free,  but  my  heart  has  long  been"  (and  she  blushed  as  she 
uttered  the  words)  "  interested  in  another.  I  never  knew 
until  to-day  how  much,  how  deeply.  This  is  a  painful  con 
fession,  but  due  to  you,  my  lord ;  for  had  it  not  been  so,  I 
could  not  have  been  insensible  to  worth  like  yours." 

He  bowed  over  the  fair  young  hand  extended  in  friend 
ship,  and  replied — 

"  May  you  be  happy,  Madeline !  happy  in  love  as  pure, 
as  devoted  as  mine.  I  will  not  say  that  my  heart  is 
broken ;  that  is  the  language  of  a  silly,  brainless  man ;  nor 
will  I  say  that  my  hopes  are  crushed,  for  God  our  Father 
rules  on  earth,  as  well  as  in  Heaven,  and  his  will  is  not 
what  I  had  hoped.  I  submit,  I  trust,  with  patience,  and 
by-and-bye,  I  doubt  not,  will  see  the  reasons  why  I  have 
been  disappointed  in  my  first  affection." 


334  WOODCLIFF. 

"He  will  guide  you,  I  doubt  not,  my  lord,  in  all  the 
events  of  life ;  and  one  so  benevolent,  so  useful,  so  noble 
as  you,  cannot  be  unhappy ;  for  there  is  too  much  in  this 
wicked  world  for  Christians  to  do,  to  spend  their  lives  in 
vain  regrets." 

"  We  are  one  in  Christian  hope,  Madeline,  and  that  is  a 
comfort;  one  in  all  schemes  of  good  for  our  fellow-men." 

"Will  you  pray  for  me,  Lord  N ?  Sore  trials  are 

before  me,  and  I  need  a  Saviour's  grace  to  sustain  me  in 
what  is  surely  coming." 

"  You  are  before  me  morning  and  evening,  Madeline ; 
and,  though  separated  by  the  wide  ocean,  I  shall  remember 
you  whenever  I  bend  the  knee  to  my  Father  in  Heaven." 

"  We  shall  be  friends,  Lord  N ,"  continued  Madeline, 

as  she  extended  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  Madeline ;  after  a  while,  true  and  faithful  friends. 
I  shall  rejoice  when  you  are  happy,  and  be  sad  when  you 
are  afflicted." 

They  were  not  aware  of  the  passage  of  time  until  Lady 
Alice  was  heard  calling,  "  Madeline,  where  are  you  ?  Papa 
and  mamma  sent  me  to  look  for  you.  Come  to  the  draw 
ing-room,  we  must  have  some  music  to-night,''  and  she  ran 
hastily  up  to  the  verandah,  and  drew  away  her  young 
friend,  saying — 

"  Brother,  I  think  you  are  very  selfish ;  we  want  Made 
line  to-night,  as  it  is  her  last  evening  at  Parkhurst." 

Lord  N did  not  answer,  and  Madeline  followed  Lady 

Alice,  deeply  pained  at  the  disappointment  which  she  knew 
would  fill  all  that  family  circle. 

She  took  her  seat  at  the  harp,  but  begged  to  be  excused 
from  singing,  for  she  could  scarcely  trust  her  voice  to  speak. 

Lord  N seated  himself  at  a  distant  window,  shading 

his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Lady  Alice  stood  by  her  side, 
and  Madeline  played  in  her  most  touching  style  many  of 
her  beautiful  pieces. 

"  Some  of  your  sacred  music,  Miss  Hamilton,"  said  the 


PARTING    PROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  335 

earl,  "  for  that  suits  the  tone  of  our  feelings,"  and  she 
played  some  exquisite  variations  from  the  hymn,  "  I  would 
not  live  alway." 

Every  heart  was  full ;  silence  reigned  among  them. 

"  Now,  one  hymn  of  hope,  Madeline,"  said  the  countess, 
and  all  the  group  joined  in  the  sweet  words — 

"  How  firm  a  foundation!  ye  saints  of  the  Lord!" 
and,  supported   by  the   others,  she   too  poured  forth  her 
wondrous  notes  in  strains  of  melody,  while  the  rich  chords 
of  the  harp  accompanied  the  choir  of  voices. 

They  parted  sadly  that  night,  and  the  next  morning- 
early,  left  with  feelings  of  deepest  sorrow  the  sweet  sheltej 
of  Parkhurst  Manor. 

(l  We  shall  see  you  in  London,  Madeline,'7  said  Ladj 
Alice,  "  for  you  will  need  us,  dear." 

A  great  change  awaited  our  young  friend ;  quiet  lodgings 
and  the  rooms  of  an  invalid  were  exchanged  for  the  spacious 
accommodations  and  elegant  ease"  of  the  home  they  had 
left.  Aunt  Matilda  was  sadly  discontented,  and  shrewdly 
suspected  what  had  taken  place  at  Parkhurst. 

"  Madeline,  I  have  a  right  to  know ;  I  am  sure  that  Lord 

N loves  you  deeply.      Have  you  rejected  him  ?     Are 

you  such  a  blind,  silly  girl?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  aunt ;  surely  I  have  a  right  to  some 
privacy  of  thought  and  action." 

"You  cannot  deny  it;  you  have  rejected  one  of  the  first 
offers  in  Great  Britain-,  and  you  are  just  a  fool,  and  nothing 
else,  Madeline  Hamilton !" 

"  Would  you  have  me  give  my  hand  without  my  heart, 
Aunt  Matilda?" 

"  A  fiddlestick  for  a  heart,  Madeline,  when  a  coronet  was 
laid  at  your  feet,  to  turn  away — I  know  what  for;  I  am  so 
ashamed  for  you,  that  I  cannot  utter  all  I  think.  Now  1 
am  sure  that  you  love  that  beggar-boy;  for  nothing  else 
could  make  you  reject  such  a  splendid  match  as  the  son  of 
an  English  earl." 


336  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Spare  me,  dear  auut,  and  let  us  talk  of  something  else ; 
when  dear  papa  is  so  ill  we  have  enough  to  think  about." 

She  could  not  forgive  her  niece,  and  seldom  exchanged 
any  thing  but  the  merest  words  necessary  for  daily  duties 
— cold,  constrained,  often  harsh.  She  took  the  first  oppor 
tunity  to  acquaint  Mr.  Hamilton  with  the  facts  of  the  case. 
He  was  both  surprised  and  grieved,  for  he  had  seen  with 
pleasure  the  growing  attachment  of  the  young  nobleman. 

"  Madeline,  how  is  it  that  you  rejected  Lord  N ? 

Few  young  ladies  would  turn  away  from  such  an  offer.  I 
had  hoped  that  his  goodness  and  mental  worth,  not  to 
speak  of  his  lovely  family,  would  have  certainly  won  your 
heart." 

"  Do  not  let  us  talk  about  it,  dear  papa,  I  do  not  love 

Lord  N as  I  should  a  husband ;  he  is  a  dear  friend, 

but  nothing  more." 

"  I  cannot  account  for  it,  Madeline,  unless  your  heart  is 
previously  occupied  ;  if *feo,  should  you  not  tell  your  father?" 

"I  am  bound  to.  no  one,  dear  papa;  just  let  me  wait 
upon  you,  and  administer  to  your  comfort,  that  is  all  I  ask." 

"  Remember  what  I  have  said,  Madeline  ;  it  would  have 
made  me  very  happy  if  you  could  have  accepted  this  young 
man,  not  on  account  of  his  noble  birth,  or  wealth,  but  just 
for  his  modest,  manly  piety  and  worth.  But  in  this  matter 
you  must  choose  for  yourself,  and  God  will  bless  my 
daughter.'' 

After  a  consultation  of  eminent  physicians,  the  painful 
alternative  was  proposed  to  Mr.  Hamilton.  When  they 
had  gone,,  he  sent  for  his  daughter.  "  Madeline,  you  re 
member  that  I  told  you  in  all  things  we  must  trust  in  God  ; 
you  have  now  great  occasion  for  that  holy  confidence.  I 
have  never  told  you  until  now  the  nature  of  my  disease. 
It  has  been  a  long  and  painful  process  that  has  brought  me 
to  the  crisis ;  an  operation  is  necessary,  my  child ;"  observ 
ing  Madeline's  pallid  face,  he  continued,  "  do  not  be  alarmed  ; 
all  is  in  the  hands  of  a  wise  And  gracious  God.  It  may 


PARTING   FROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  337 

be  successful,  or  I  ruay  sink  under  the  operation ;  but 
nothing  else  can  be  done,  and  we  must  prepare  our  minds ; 
it  will  be  speedily  over,  there  will  be  no  very  long  sus 
pense.  Be  the  end  what  it  may,  I  trust  that  I  am  pre 
pared;  my  hopes  are  all  upon  the  'Rock  of  Ages.'  " 

"When  will  it  take  place,  papa?"  asked  the  trembling 

girl. 

"  In  about  ten  days,"  was  the  answer ;  "  and  now,  dar 
ling,  we  will  talk  no  more  about  it;  to-morrow  will  be 
Sunday ;  you  must  go  to  church,  Madeline,  and  have  prayers" 
offered  for  me ;  Aunt  Matilda  will  stay  with  me." 

It  was  a  season  of  sweet  and  holy  refreshment  to  the 
young  pilgrim,  for  she  needed  the  heavenly  manna  for  her 
weary,  anxious  spirit.  Passing  out  of  church,  what  was 
her  surprise  to  see  Roland,  the  friend  of  her  youth,  stand 
ing  at  the  door  in  company  with  two  gentlemen ;  the  one 
elderly,  of  noble  presence,  and  the  other  a  young  gentle 
man,  of  whom  she  had  no  remembrance.  Roland  ad 
vanced,  extended  his  hand,  and  said — 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  here  alone,  Miss  Hamilton  ?" 

"  My  father  is  very  ill ;  my  aunt  is  staying  with  him, 
and  he  sent  me  to  have  prayers  offered  for  him.  I  need 
them,  oh,  how  much !  remember  me,  Mr.  Bruce." 

Madeline  was  pale  and  worn,  and  Roland  was  touched 
by  the  expression  of  deep  sorrow  upon  her  fair  young  face. 
He  took  the  little  hand  as  in  days  of  yore,  and  said,  in  low 
tones — 

"  Do  you  dream,  Miss  Hamilton,  that  I  can  ever  forget 
you  at  a  throne  of  grace  ?  You  are  always  remembered 
there  and  everywhere." 

Roland  then  hastily  introduced  his  friends,  but  Uncle 
Malcolm  had  recognized  the  young  lady  that  he  had  once 
met  before  in  a  carriage.  A  glance  at  the  earnest  gaze  of 
Roland,  and  at  the  downcast  blush  of  Madeline,  caused  a 
smile  to  flit  across  the  face  of  the  good  man,  as  he  remem- 
oered  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  the  sweet  blushes  of 
29 


338  WOODCLIFP. 

Mary  Gordon  in  the  first  days  of  their  innocent,  unhappy 
love. 

"  Where  are  you  staying,  Mr.  Bruce  ?"  asked  the  young 
lady  ;  "I  may  need  your  presence  ere  long." 

Roland  gave  his  address,  and  they  parted. 

"  Well,  Roland  Bruce !"  said  Edmund,  "  of  all  the  sly 
fellows  that  I  have  ever  met,  you  exceed — here  have  I  been 
prating  to  you  of  Madeline  Hamilton's  beauty,  and  behold, 
she  is  an  old  acquaintance  !" 

Roland  smiled,  as  he  replied,  "Yes,  I  knew  her  in 
America,  ever  since  she  was  ten  years  old ;  and  I  am  there 
fore  somewhat  acquainted  with  the  young  lady." 

"And  why,  then,  do  you  not  visit  your  old  friend  ?" 

Roland's  countenance  fell,  and  drawing  himself  proudly 
up,  he  replied,  "  We  will  change  the  subject,  if  you  please, 
Edmund." 

When  Madeline  returned,  she  sought  her  father's  room. 

"  Papa,  I  met  Roland  Bruce,  to-day,  at  church  ;  he  seemed 
so  concerned  to  hear  that  you  were  sick." 

"  What  is  he  doing  in  London,  Madeline  ?" 

"  He  is  in  attendance  upon  a  young  man  whose  studies 
he  is  directing." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,  Madeline  ;  he  is  a  noble  fellow, 
and  has  been  a  kind  friend  to  my  little  girl ;  I  do  not  think 
that  he  was  very  well  treated  by  your  aunt ;  but  as  eternity 
Approaches,  my  daughter,  the  distinctions  of  life  melt  away. 
I  did  not  want  to  dismiss  him  from  our  house  —  send  for 
him  to-morrow,  and  tell  him  to  bring  his  friend,  Mr.  Graham, 
with  him." 

On  the  morrow,  a  few  lines  summoned  him  to  the  sick 
room,  but  without  Mr.  Graham.  Shocked  at  the  change  in 
Mr.  Hamilton,  he  took  his  withered  band,  and  seating  him 
self  by  his  side,  he  said,  "  These  are  hours  of  weakness, 
dear  sir,  and  need  a  strong  support." 

"  They  are,  Roland  ;  I  feel  flesh  and  heart  failing,  but  I 
can  say  God  is  now  the  strength  of  my  heart  —  your  dear 


PARTING    PROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  339 

patient  sister  was  the  little  messenger  that  brought  the 
first  whispers  of  the  Spirit,  Roland ;  I  never  forgot  her 
dying  words." 

For  a  minute,  the  brother  was  silent ;  but  seizing  the 
pale  hand,  and  pressing  it  warmly,  he  replied, 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Hamilton.  What  joyful  news !  my  little 
Effie !  was  she,  indeed,  the  messenger  to  you  ?  wonderful 
are  the  ways  of  God  I" 

"  Yes,  Roland,  and  I  have  always  wanted  to  tell  all  that 
those  words  have  done  for  me.  I  felt  that  her  faith  was 
real ;  from  that  day,  I  have  been  reading  my  Bible  with 
earnest  prayer,  and  it  has  revealed  to  me  a  Saviour,  all- 
sufficient  for  the  darkest  hour,  all-merciful  to  the  greatest 
sinner  —  will  you  pray  with  me,  Roland?"  and  the  young 
man  bowed  down  by  the  side  of  Madeline,  at  her  father's 
bed-side,  and  poured  out  an  earnest,  heartfelt  prayer. 

"  There  will  soon  be  a  painful  trial,  Roland ;  will  you  be 
with  us  when  the  day  arrives  ?" 

"  1  promise,  Mr.  Hamilton  ;"  and  Roland  retired. 

He  was  frequent  in  his  visits  to  the  sick-room,  intro 
ducing,  also,  Uncle  Malcolm,  whose  strong,  fervent  faith, 
and  Scriptural  wisdom,  was  an  unspeakable  blessing  to  the 
suffering  man. 

"  To-morrow. is  the  day,  Roland ;  bring  your  friend ;"  and 
Mr.  Hamilton  pressed  the  strong  hand  of  his  young  friend. 

What  was  Roland's  surprise,  to  see  Madeline  pale,  com 
posed,  and  steadfast,  by  the  side  of  her  parent's  bed,  awaiting 
the  physicians. 

"  Can  you  bear  this  trial,  Miss  Hamilton  ?"  was  Rolafcd's 
whispered  inquiry. 

"  I  cannot  leave  my  father ;  who  else  should  sustain  him 
but  his  own  daughter  ?  I  have  prayed  for  strength  ;  it  is 
mine,  Roland;"  for  in  the  deep  feelings  of  the  moment,  she 
dropped  the  ceremonious  title  which  she  had  used  of  late 

The  surgeons  arrived  —  instruments  were  prepared;  the 
sufferer  calm  and  tranquil ;  Madeline  heroic  as  a  loving 


340  WOODCLIFF. 

woman  should  be;  Roland,  full  of  sympathy  for  her; 
Malcolm  strong,  tranquil,  prayerful. 

"  My  daughter,  is  it  not  too  much  ?"  whispered  her 
father. 

"  For  you,  my  father?  can  anything  be  too  much  ?  I  can 
bear  all ;"  and  she  kissed  the  dear  face  with  steadfast  lips. 

Close  by  her  father's  side,  with  restoratives  in  her  hand, 
she  remained  throughout  the  whole  painful  trial ;  cold,  and 
pale  as  marble. 

Roland  stood  near  her,  and  Malcolm  on  the  other  side, 
with  eyes  closed,  and  heart  uplifted  to  God  in  prayer. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  said  the  principal  surgeon. 

"  How  ?"  whispered  Madeline,  to  Roland. 

"  Safe,  Madeline !  It  has  been  successful." 

The  tension  had  been  too  much  ;  the  strong  heart  of  love 
gave  way  to  the  woman's  weakness  ;  the  reaction  was  too 
great ;  and  Roland,  perceiving  her  falling,  lifted  her  tenderly 
in  his  arms — the  first  time  that  he  had  pressed  her  form  so 
closely  since  the  days  of  childhood ;  imprinting  one  warm, 
pure,  and  tender  kiss  upon  the  sweet,  pale  face,  he  laid  her 
quietly  upon  the  couch  in  the  next  room.  Aunt  Matilda 
was  there  in  anxious  suspense. 

"  Is  it  over,  Mr.  Bruce  ?''  asked  the  lady. 

"All  is  well,  madam,  thus  far,  but  Miss  Hamilton  needs 
your  care;"  and  he  bathed  the  face  of  the  unconscious  girl 
with  the  cologne  that  he  had  brought  from  the  next  room. 

"  I  will  perform  these  offices,  sir ;  you  are  not  needed 
here," — and  dismissing  him  haughtily  from  the  room,  she 
proceeded  to  loosen  the  clothes,  and  apply  restoratives. 
The  fainting  was  deep  and  long,  and  hastily  she  called  a 
physician  from  the  next  room. 

Yielding  to  remedies,  in  a  few  more  minutes,  some  gasp 
ing  words,  and  a  heaving  of  the  chest,  indicated  returning 
consciousness. 

The  eyes  unclosed — "  How  is  my  father,  sir  ?" 

"Quite  composed,"  was  the  reply;  "he  needs  perfect 


PARTING    FROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  341 

quiet ;  do  not  see  him  just  yet ;  there  must  be  no  emotion ; 
when  you  are  entirely  restored,  you  can  attend  him." 
"When  can  you  pronounce  him  out  of  danger?" 

"  We  cannot  tell  for  twelve  hours  what  will  be  the  re 
sult." 

Madeline  lay  quiet  for  another  hour,  her  lips  moving  con 
stantly  in  prayer ;  at  length  she  arose.  "  I  am  better,  aunt ; 
give  me  a  glass  of  wine  ;  I  must  return." 

"I  am  afraid,  my  dear  child,  that  it  is  too  much." 

"  No,  aunt,  I  cannot  stay  here — see !  I  can  walk  firmly ; 
I  am  perfectly  restored ;"  and  she  passed  quietly  into  the 
next  room.  Stooping  over  her  father,  she  pressed  one  long, 
loving  kiss  upon  his  dear  face. 

"  Do  not  speak;  I  shall  not  leave  you,  dear  papa,  again." 

Malcolm  watched  with  deep  interest  the  strong  love  that 
filled  the  heart  of  Madeline ;  and  coming  to  her  side,  he 
said, 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  is  your  strength  equal  to  this 
great  demand  ?  I  am  ready  to  stay,  and  Roland  will  aid 
me." 

She  smiled  as  she  replied, 

"  But  you  are  not  his  daughter,  his  Madeline." 

Mr.  Hamilton  slept  apparently  in  perfect  peace.  Made 
line  watched  him  with  untiring  patience  and  hope.  When 
ever  he  stirred,  she  was  directed  to  administer,  in  small 
doses,  the  stimulants  that  were  ordered  by  the  surgeons. 

"What  is  the  danger ?"  inquired  Madeline ;  "he  seems 
so  quiet." 

"  The  want  of  reaction ;  sinking  of  the  vital  powers,  my 
dear  young  lady." 

"  Is  there  any  reaction  yet  ?"  asked  she,  with  a  trembling 
voice. 

"  None  whatever,"  replied  the  surgeon,  as  he  sat  holding 
the  pulse — "  but  it  may  come  yet ;  there  is  a  great  differ 
ence  in  constitution." 
29* 


342  WOODCLIFP. 

Mr.  Hamilton  was  evidently  in  a  state  of  insensibility, 
which  Madeline  mistook  for  sleep. 

"  You  had  better  administer  the  wine,  my  dear,"  was 
the  surgeon's  direction. 

"  Will  it  not  disturb  his  sleep,  sir  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  child." 

And  Madeline  from  time  to  time  offered  a  tea-spoonful 
of  wine  to  the  exhausted  man,  only  a  part  of  which  he  ap 
peared  to  swallow. 

Hours  rolled  on — Roland  saw  the  quiet  agony  of  the  de 
voted  daughter,  as  no  symptoms  for  the  better  appeared. 

"  Shall  I  take  your  place,  Madeline,  for  a  few  minutes  ?" 
whispered  Roland,  as  he  beckoned  to  Mr.  Graham  to  lead 
her  to  an  open  window ;  and  while  she  stood  there,  leaning 
upon  the  shoulder  of  this  good  man,  Roland  continued 
watching,  and  dripping  the  wine  drop  by  drop. 

Mr.  Graham  whispered  —  "Luikunto  the  Rock  that  is 
higher  than  we,  dear  Miss  Hamilton,"  for  he  saw  what  was 
approaching.  "  There  is  a  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than 
a  brother;  trust  him,  my  dear  young  friend;"  and  while 
she  leaned  so  confidingly  upon  the  strong  man,  he  whispered 
earnest  words  of  fervent  prayer  for  the  dear  father  stretched 
upon  that  bed  of  languishing,  and  for  her  so  soon  to  be  be 
reaved,  that  she  was  comforted  and  strengthened.  "  Take 
me  back  to  my  father's  side,  Mr.  Graham.  I  must  not 
leave  him." 

The  twelve  hours  had  passed — no  signs  of  returning 
consciousness  had  yet  appeared. 

The  surgeon  beckoned  to  Malcolm  Graham  to  come  into 
the  next  room. 

"  It  is  all  over,  sir — there  is  scarcely  any  pulse — he  may 
recover  consciousness,  but  he  is  passing  away.  God  help 
the  daughter;  you  must  prepare  her." 

Madeline  had  seen  the  signal.  "  Let  me  go,  Roland ;  I 
must  know  the  worst ;"  and  hastily  she  followed  Mr.  Gra 
ham.  He  was  standing  by  the  side  of  the  mantel-piece, 


PARTING    FROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  343 

with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands,  and  strong  emotion 
was  shaking  his  frame.  He  perceived  Madeline.  Taking 
her  by  the  hand,  he  led  her  kindly  to  the  couch — they  were 
alone.  Placing  his  fatherly  arm  around  her,  he  said  with 
a  caressing  voice,  "Lean  on  me,  my  child;"  and  he  tenderly 
smoothed  the  soft  brown  hair,  that  lay  dishevelled  around 
her  face. 

"  God  is  trying  ye,  my  dear;  ye  hae  lately  given  your- 
sel'  to  him ;  ye  and  yer  dear  father.  He  is  going  to  tak' 
him  first;  can  ye  say,  '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  awa',  blessed  be  the  name  o'  the  Lord?' " 

Her  head  sank  lower,  lower ;  she  had  fainted — Malcolm 
laid  her  down  tenderly  as  a  woman,  and  knelt  by  her  side, 
administering  restoratives,  chafing  the  cold  hands,  and  lift 
ing  up  his  heart  in  prayer. 

She  opened  her  eyes  —  a  sweet,  sorrowful  smile  passed 
over  her  face,  as  she  whispered,  "  It  is  a  hard  trial,  but  the 
Lord's  "will  be  done ;  my  father  is  a  Christian,  and  I  can 
say  now,  he  is  thine ;  take  him,  dear  Lord,  to  thyself;  but 
O,  Mr.  Graham!  this  human  heart!  How  lonely  will  it  be! 
My  father  was  parent,  mother,  brother,  friend !" 

"  Comfort  will  come,  my  dear  child,  if  ye  are  ane  o'  the 
Saviour's  fold ;  he  is  afflicted  when  ye  are  sad,  has  borne 
all  yer  sorrows,  carried  all  yer  griefs." 

"Now,  let  us  return,  Mr.  Graham,"  and  Madeline  took 
her  place  again  by  her  father's  side. 

A  few  more  silent  hours  passed  —  about  midnight,  there 
was  some  motion  visible  in  the  form  that  lay  there  so 
deathly  still.  Slowly  he  unclosed  his  eyes,  and  raising  his 
hand,  said, 

"  Where  is  my  daughter,  my  Madeline  ?" 

"  She  is  here,  dear  papa/'  was  the  quick  response. 

"  Kiss  me,  darling ;  I  am  in  the  midst  of  the  dark  valley, 
just  passing  over,  Madeline  ;  but  '  his  rod  and  his  staff",  they 
comfort  me.' "  ^ 

She  stooped  over  the  dear  parent ;  he  folded  her  fondly 


344  WOODCLIFF. 

to  his  heart;  then  held  her  off;  looked  at  her  one  minute 
with  unutterable  love ;  then  pressed  upon  her  cheek  the  cold 
kisses  of  lips  that  were  chilled  in  death. 

"You  have  been  a  comfort  to  me  always,  Maddy ;  you 
will  meet  me,  darling,  in  the  better  world ;  be  true  to  your 
dear  Saviour,  Madeline." 

"  Do  you  suffer,  dear  papa  ?"  was  the  affectionate,  anx 
ious  question. 

"  Not  at  all ;  perfect  peace !  perfect  peace !  God  be 
praised !"  and  in  another  minute,  the  spirit  of  Lewis  Ha 
milton  had  departed  to  its  rest.  , 

"  Tak'  her,  Roland,"  said  Mr.  Graham,  as  he  saw  the 
drooping  form  of  the  afflicted  daughter.  Tenderly  he 
led  her  to  the  adjoining  room,  and  whispered  words  of 
Christian  sympathy  and  love,  in  her  hour  of  sore  trial. 
Aunt  Matilda  had  remained  in  the  room  with  her  brother, 
until  the  last  moment,  and  had  then  sought  her  own  room. 

"  0,  Roland !  you  know  what  I  have  lost,"  said  the  poor 
girl. 

"  Yes,  Madeline,  but  think  of  his  everlasting  gain  ;*'  and 
Roland  sat  with  Madeline's  dear  hand  clasped  in  his,  as  in 
the  days  of  yore. 

******* 

Lady  Alice  had  heard  of  the  bereavement,  and  accom 
panied  by  her  brother,  she  sought  the  house  of  the  mourner, 
at  the  earliest  period  after  the  funeral  was  over.  Roland 

was  there,  and  Lord  N needed  none  to  tell  him  of  the 

deep  love  that  dwelt  in  the  heart  of  Roland  Bruce  for  the 
orphan  girl.  But  there  was  something  in  the  humble,  de 
ferential  manner  of  the  young  man,  which  led  Lord  N 

to  wonder  if  he  were  really  an  accepted  suitor. 

And  for  Rojand  himself — when  the  first  hours  of  sorrow 
had  passed,  and  all  were  trying  to  return  to  their  accus 
tomed  pursuits,  more  than  ever  did  he  feel  the  vast  dif 
ference  between  himself,  the^  poor  young  lawyer,  just 


PARTING    FROM    ENGLISH    FRIENDS.  345 

launching  upon  the  theatre  of  life,  and  the   rich  young 
heiress  of  Woodcliff,  the  idol  even  in  noble  circles. 

What  could  Madeline  ever  be  to  him,  but  the  sweet 
child  that  he  had  trained,  the  young  girl  that  he  had 
watched  so  carefully,  and  the  noble  woman  whom  now  he 
reverenced  ?  He  was  allowed  access  to  the  house,  because 
Aunt  Matilda  had  now  no  authority  over  Madeline,  and  in 
dependent  as  she  always  was,  she  would  not  allow  dictation 
here  ;  but  only  as  a  friend  he  came,  and  Madeline  felt  that 
it  was  so.  Once  more  she  sought  the  house  of  God,  where 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  worship.  Clad  in  deep  mourn 
ing,  she  took  her  seat  among  the  worshippers,  and  listened 
to  the  Gospel  message,  with  a  full  and  trusting  heart. 

It  was  a  communion  season,  and  as  she  bowed  around 
the  chancel,  she  did  not  perceive,  until  she  was  returning 

to  her  seat,  that  Lord  N ,  Roland,  and  Mr.  Graham  had 

all  knelt  at  the  same  table.  It  was  a  very  sweet  and  sooth 
ing  thought  that  here  they  could  all  hold  blessed  commu 
nion  with  their  common  Saviour;  and  though  Uncle  Mal 
colm  and  Roland  were  of  different  sects  from  herself,  they 
were  all  one  in  Christ  Jesus,  "  one  faith,  one  hope,  one 
baptism." 

Lady  Alice  was  about  to  return  to  Parkhurst ;  but  ere 
she  went,  she  came  to  bid  farewell  to  Madeline,  who  was 
soon  to  return  to  America. 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear,  that  you  cannot  be  my  sister,  but  I 
shall  always  love  you ;  it  is  a  great  disappointment  to  us 
all,  but  especially  to  my  dear  Alfred.  I  have  brought  you 
our  likenesses,  Madeline,  with  our  hair  woven  on  the  back ; 
you  can  cherish  us  as  friends,  dear." 

"  You  do  not  blame  me,  Lady  Alice,  I  hope ;  I  esteem 
your  brother  more  than  any  one  that  I  have  met  in  Eng 
land  ;  and  for  yourself,  dear  friend,  I  shall  love  you  always, 
just  as  if  you  were  my  sister  —  you  will  promise  to  write 
frequently,  will  you  not  ?  I  have  something  for  you,  Alice," 


346  WOODCLIPP. 

and  Madeline  brought  out  a  lovely  miniature,  a  perfect  like 
ness  of  herself. 

"  Thank  you,  Madeline  ;  I  never  saw  any  thing  more 
beautifully  painted — now,  farewell !  be  sure  to  write  often  ; 
but  be  assured  that  I  do  not  blame  you ;  for  as  I  am  sure 
that  you  must  love  another,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say ; 
nothing  else  could  prevent  you  from  loving  my  dear 
brother." 

And  thus  they  parted,  these  two  young  girls  who  had 
learned  to  love  each  other  so  well. 

Lord  N came  also  ere  he  left  the  city. 

"  I  may  call  you  Madeline,  may  I  not  ?  for  I  am  trying 
to  school  myself  to  look  upon  you  as  a  dear  friend ;  I  could 
not  let  you  go  without  a  farewell,  sad  though  it  may  be." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  lord,  and  hope  to  hear  of 
your  welfare  through  your  dear  sister." 

"  I  think  that  I  have  seen  my  rival,  Madeline,  in  the 
young  man  that  I  have  met  here ;  and  I  do  not  wonder ; 
that  noble  brow,  on  which  sits  enthroned  the  lofty  intellect, 
the  only  signet  of  true  nobility,  and  that  manly  form,  I  could 
not  but  admire,  while  I  dare  not,  as  a  Christian,  envy." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Lord  N ;   Mr.  Bruce  is  but  my 

friend." 

"  He  will  be  more,  Madeline,  before  many  years ;  and 
may  God  bless  you  both,  I  shall  ever  pray.  Farewell! 
dear  Madeline,  for  I  may  say  that  in  parting,"  and  he  wrung 
the  fair  hand,  on  which  he  printed  a  warm  farewell  kiss,  and 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   FIEST   LINK  LOST   AND   POUND. 

WITH  a  sad  heart,  Madeline  turned  her  face  homeward, 
for  no  kind  father  would  brighten  Woodcliff  again.  Uncle 
Malcolm  accompanied  them  to  the  steamer,  which  was  to 
sail  for  Liverpool  on  the  ninth  of  September.  Malcolm 
had  become  deeply  attached  to  the  noble  youth  who  was 
to  be  the  companion  of  their  voyage.  Laying  his  hand 
upon  Roland's  shoulder,  he  gave  him  his  blessing,  and 
placing  a  packet  in  his  hand,  said,  "  Dinna  forget,  Roland, 
this  is  but  your  first  visit;  I  maun  see  ye  again,  my  son," 
and  turning  to  Madeline  with  a  moistened  eye,  he  added, — 
"  Farewell !  my  dear  young  leddy,  ye  will  na  neglect  my 
boy,  my  Roland,  I  am  sure ;  may  God  forever  bless  and 
comfort  ye  wi'  his  choicest  gifts." 

Madeline  bowed  her  head  over  the  warm  and  honest 
hand,  as  she  replied, 

"  Roland  has  been  my  friend  and  brother  ever  since  I 
was  ten  years  old ;  such  friendships  are  not  soon  forgotten, 
Mr.  Graham." 

Bidding  Miss  Matilda  and  Edmund  a  courteous  farewell, 
he  .took  leave  of  Mrs.  Douglass  cordially,  and  left  the 
vessel. 

Their  passage  must  necessarily  be  a  sad  one ;  for  on  board 
were  the  remains  of  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  they  could  not  but 
be  solemn  in  the  presence  of  the  dead.  When  fairly  out 
at  sea,  Roland  opened  the  packet  placed  in  his  hand  by  his 
good  friend,  and  found  to  his  surprise,  a  scrip  containing 

(347) 


348  WOODCLIFF. 

shares  in  the  Bank  of  London  to  the  amount  of  six  thou 
sand  pounds,  accompanying  which  was  the  following  note  : 

"  To  Roland,  from  a  friend  that  loves  him  well,  assured 
that  he  will  be  a  good  steward  of  his  Father's  gifts."  Ex 
amining  his  trunks,  he  perceived  that  there  was  one  more 
than  he  had  brought,  with  his  name  on  it,  and  a  key  hung 
to  the  strap — what  could  it  mean  ?  On  unlocking  it,  he 
found  a  set  of  valuable  law-books,  a  full  suit  of  handsome 
black  cloth,  a  complete  set  of  shirts,  neckcloths,  gloves, 
hats,  in  fine,  all  that  a  gentleman  needed ;  and,  in  addition, 
a  small  case  which,  on  opening,  contained  a  very  valuable 
gold  watch ;  and  another,  with  Uncle  Malcolm,  Mrs.  Lind 
say,  and  Annot's  pictures. 

He  was  overpowered  with  gratitude,  first  to  the  God  of 
his  fathers,  and  then  to  the  noble  friend  whom  he  had 
raised. 

"  Looking  aloft !"  whispered  Roland,  with  a  full  heart, 
"  I  know  now  my  mother's  meaning;  O,  what  a  legacy  she 
left  her  son  on  that  death-bed !  From  what  depths  of 
poverty  have  I  been  raised !  To  what  a  post  of  honor  and 
prosperity !  To  God  alone  be  all  the  glory !  When  she 
bade  me  trust  Him,  I  did  not  know  the  noble  friend  that 
was  then  awaiting  for  me  among  my  native  hills,  I  did 
not  then  know  Malcolm  Graham ;  but  God  knew  where  he 
was,  and  led  me  to  him.  May  he  give  me  grace  to  be  a 
faithful  steward  of  His  many  gifts." 

Aunt  Matilda  was  still  very  haughty  to  Roland,  and 
distant  to  Mrs.  Douglass ;  for  she  could  not  brook  the  com 
panionship  of  the  "common  class,"  as  she  styled  these, 
after  the  society  of  nobles ;  she  was  rather  more  conde 
scending  to  Edmund  Norris,  for  she  had  learned  that  he  be 
longed  to  the  upper  circles  of  New  York. 

Madeline  was  much  alone,  and,  in  her  deep  mourning 
dress,  forbade  any  approach  to  light  or  trifling  intercourse. 

One  evening,  having  sought  a  secluded  part  of  the  ves- 


THE    FIRST   LINK   LOST    AND    FOUND.  349 

sel,  Roland  followed  her,  and  found  her  looking  down  into 
the  deep  and  solemn  ocean. 

"  May  I  intrude,  Madeline  ?"  for  they  had  both  agreed  to 
drop  the  formal  titles  of  ceremony. 

"  You  are  welcome,  Roland,  welcome  always ;  for  I  spend 
many  sad  hours  in  this  lonely  vessel,  and  can  never  forget 
the  sacred  relics  that  are  with  us." 

"  That  is  a  solemn  thought,  Madeline,  but  do  not  let  us 
think  of  the  silent  dust ;  let  us  look  upward  to  the  blessed 
rest  of  the  immortal  part.'' 

"How  grandly  sublime,  Roland,  is  this  rolling  ocean! 
so  deep  1  so  vast !  so  boundless  !  It  reminds  one  of  eter 
nity.  I  never  look  down  upon  its  dark  waters  without 
hearing  from  its  dashing  waves  the  murmurs  of  another 
world  ;  how  many  have  sunk  in  this  deep  abyss,  and  passed 
hence  to  their  eternity  !" 

"  Do  you  remember,  Madeline,  how  we  used  to  listen  to 
its  music  at  Woodcliff,  when  we  were  boy  and  girl  ?  What 
fancies  we  used  to  have  !" 

"  Yes,  truly !  we  were  singular  children,  Roland ;  I  was 
a  giddy  little  kitten;  but  no  one  knows  what  deep  and 
solemn  thoughts  used  to  visit  me  even  then ;"  and  turning 
a  bright  glance  upon  Roland's  face,  "  I  think  the  first  that 
I  ever  remember  was  from  words  uttered  by  you,  the  boy- 
sage,  as  I  think  now  that  you  always  were." 

Roland  felt  his  heart  throb  with  emotions  of  delight  at 
these  tender  reminiscences,  and  replied, 

"  Then  you  still  remember,  Madeline,  the  intercourse  of 
those  childish  days." 

"  Remember,  Roland  !  Yes  ;  they  will  be  remembered 
in  the  world  to  come  ;  for  your  words,  your  mother's,  and 
dear  Effie's  are  the  only  ones  whose  impressions  have  ever 
influenced  my  life." 

"What  a.blesse"d  thought,  Madeline!    that  dear  Effie 
should  have  so  impressed  your  dear  father." 
30 


350  WOODOLIPP. 

"  Yes,  Roland,  it  was  a  call  of  mercy ;  but  I  knew 
nothing  of  it  then." 

"  God  leads  us  by  a  way  that  we  know  not,  Madeline ; 
what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  trust  Him  !  When  my  mother 
first  taught  me  these  talismanic  words,  I  did  not  know  their 
power ;  but  I  have  learned  since  what  they  mean.  '  Look 
ing  aloft,'  upward  in  all  things,  in  sorrow,  in  perplexity,  in 
adversity,  in  prosperity,  for  guidance,  for  blessing,  for 
comfort ;  I  can  trust  Him  for  everything  now.  When,  with 
her  weak  and  trembling  voice,  she  bade  me  in  that  hour  of 
affliction,  '  Look  aloft,'  when  my  boyish  heart  sank  within 
me  at  the  prospect  of  being  all  alone,  I  did  not  know,  Mad 
eline,  of  the  dear  friend,  Malcolm  Graham,  waiting  for  me 
in  Scotland ;  nor  did  he  know  of  me,  but  we  were  waiting 
for  each  other;  for  God  knew,  Madeline;  and  He  knows 
and  will  guide  all  else  that  shall  befall  us  ;"  and  then  he 
proceeded  to  relate  some  of  the  most  important  features  of 
Malcolm's  history. 

And  thus  the  hours  were  beguiled  until  a  late  time  for 
retiring. 

Aunt  Matilda  called,  "  Madeline,  it  is  growing  late ;" 
and  Roland,  taking  her  arm,  and  placing  it  within  his  own, 
led  her  to  the  cabin-door,  where  he  bade  her  "  Good 
night." 

"  You  seem  much  interested  in  the  conversation  of  that 
youth,  Madeline ;  it  is  not  very  proper  for  a  young  lady  to 
be  sitting  alone  until  so  late  an  hour  with  a  young  man." 

Madeline's  old  spirit  flushed  her  cheek,  and  tightened 
the  proud  lip ;  but  she  checked  herself,  as  she  replied, 

"Aunt  Matilda,  I. am  not  a  child  now;  my  actions  are 
free,  J-  believe,  of  control,  so  long  as  I  do  nothing  that  I  am 
ashamed  of;  I  always  was,  and  shall  be,  interested  in  the 
conversation  of  Roland  Bruce,  and  shall  consider  myself  at 
liberty  to  talk  with  him  when  I  please." 

"  0,  I  dare  say,  miss,  that  he  is  much  more  interesting 


-THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  351 

than  Lord  N ;  I  have  no  patience  with  you,  Madeline, 

to  cast  away  a  coronet  for  such  a  man  as  this." 

"  Aunt  Matilda,  you  must  not  use  such  language  to  me ; 
Roland  is  to  me  a  very  dear  friend,  and  nothing  more." 

"  You  cannot  say,  Madeline,  that  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  your  rejection  of  Lord  N ." 

"  I  cannot  be  questioned,  Aunt  Matilda ;  but  I  will  never 
slight,  or  cast  aside  a  friend  like  Roland  Bruce ;"  and  Mad 
eline  sought  her  rest  with  a  disturbed  spirit,  for  she  feared 
that  she  had  spoken  improperly  to  her  aunt,  and  resolved 
to  apologize  next  day. 

She  was  stirring  early  in  the  morning ;  and,  with  the  old 
innocence  of  childhood,  she  went  to  her  aunt's  state-room, 
and  said, 

"  Aunty,  let  me  in  ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Aunt  Matilda  could  not  resist  the  pleading  voice,  and 
opened  the  door. 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear  aunt,  for  what  I  said  last  night ;  will 
you  forgive  little  Mad-cap's  hot  speech  ?  it  is  some  of  the 
old  temper,  aunty,  that  will  get  the  mastery  ;  when  I  can 
sit  more  humbly  at  Jesus'  feet  I  shall  be  better,  I  hope." 

Aunt  Matilda  kissed  the  dear  girl  fondly,  as  of  old,  say 
ing, 

"I  forgive  you,  my  dear;  you  are  the  same  little  coaxing 
witch  that  you  were  when  a  child  ;  I  wonder  if  you  '11  ever 
be  anything  else." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  always  be  innocent  and  truthful  as  a 
child,  aunty ;  but  I  think  that  it  is  time  I  had  learned  to 
govern  myself  more  like  a  woman.'' 

Mrs.  Douglass  was  charmed  with  the  simplicity  and 
frankness  of  the  young  heiress;  and,  although  much 
slighted  by  Aunt  Matilda,  Madeline's  kindness  amply  com 
pensated  for  this  lack  of  courtesy. 

"I  believe,  Madeline,  that  you  would  associate  with  any 
one,"  said  Aunt  Matilda  ;  "  however  low  born  or  obscure, 
it  matters  not  to  you." 


352  .      WOODCLIFF. 

Madeline  smiled,  as  she  replied, 

"  You  need  never  fear,  dear  aunty ;  for  the  vulgar  and 
coarse-minded  I  despise,  though  dwelling  in  a  palace ;  it  is 
'mind  that  makes  the  man  ;'  so  yor  see  I  come  home  true 
American,  though  I  have  mingled  with  the  nobles  of  Eng-. 
land." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  the  earl's  family  were  lovely  and 
refined?" 

"  Yes,  dear  aunt ;  but  I  did  not  love  them  for  their  rank  ; 
it  was  for  their  worth,  their  education ;  and,  dwelling  in  a 
cottage,  they  would  be  the  same ;  we  saw  some,  I  think, 
even  among  the  higher  classes  in  England,  that  were  not 
remarkable  for  refinement;  for  instance,  the  fat  baroness 
that  we  met  at  our  dress-maker's ;  don't  you  remember  her 
vulgar  airs  when  she  tried  to  impress  us  with  her  style  ?'' 

"  Yes  ;  but  then  you  know  that  she  had  not  always  be 
longed  to  the  haut-ton ;  she  was  one  of  the  'nouveaux 
riches.'  " 

"In  fine,  Aunt  Matilda,  she  was  not  a  genuine  lady, 
and  never  could  be  made  one ;  whereas,  Mr.  Graham  is 
one  of  nature's  noblemen  that  I  used  to  talk  about  when  a 
little  girl,  and  he  never  can  be  anything  else  ;  I  have  met 
with  a  few  others  just  like  him,  dear  aunt ;"  and  Madeline 
smiled  rather  archly  upon  Aunt  Matilda. 

"  She  '11  never  be  cured  of  her  plebeian  notions,"  said  the 
lady,  with  a,  sigh,  as  she  turned  away,  "  and  it  all  comes 
from  associating  with  these  Bruces." 

Madeline  smiled  again  as  she  took  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Doug 
lass,  and  commenced  her  walk  upon  the  deck. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  we  are  going  to  hae  a  storm,"  said  the 
latter;  "the  sky  is  vera  threatening,  and  the  wind  sighs 
heavily,  as  if  mischief  were" brewing." 

"  It  must  be  a  grand  spectacle,  Mrs.  Douglass,  to  see  the 
war  of  the  elements ;  I  think  that  I  should  like  to  be  in  a 
storn>,  if  it  were  not  too  violent." 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  353 

"  What  are  the  signs,  Davie  ?"  said  Mrs.  Douglass  to  a 
sailor  standing  near. 

"  We  shall  have  squalls  before  morning,  ma'am.  Mother 
Gary's  chickens  are  flying  around,  and  the  wind  comes 
from  a  stormy  point  of  the  compass." 

Aunt  Matilda  became  nervous  as  she  watched  the  dark 
clouds  gathering  from  so  many  different  quarters,  and  heard 
the  growling  of  the  distant  thunder.  The  wind  rose  higher 
and  higher,  the  waves  swelled  until  they  rolled  and  surged 
in  heavy  billows  in  the  wake  of  the  ship,  which  commenced 
pitching  and  tossing  from  side  to  side ;  the  rain  descended 
ill  torrents,  and,  through  the  speaking-trumpet,  the  loud 
tones  of  the  captain  giving  his  orders,  and  the  running  to 
and  fro  of  the  seamen,  increased  the  fears  of  the  ladies. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  storm,  captain  ?''  inquired 
Madeline. 

"  We  shall  have  a  fierce  tempest,  my  dear  young  lady ; 
but  we  have  a  good  strong  ship,  don't  be  alarmed." 

Aunt  Matilda  betook  herself  to  the  cabin,  and,  covering 
herself  up  in  her  berth,  trembled  with  apprehension.  Mrs. 
Douglass  and  Madeline  committed  themselves  quietly  to 
the  care  of  their  Father  in  Heaven,  and  Roland  paced  the 
deck,  with  fris  eye  turned  anxiously  upon  the  warring  ele 
ments,  and  ever  and  anon  walking  near  the  cabin  door, 
hoping  to  see  something  of  Madeline. 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Hamilton  ?"  said  the  young  man,  as 
he  thought  he  distinguished  her  standing  at  the  cabin 
door,  in  the  dim  light  below. 

"  Shall  I  come  up,  Mr.  Bruce  ?  it  is  very  close  in  the 
cabin." 

"Throw  on  a  cloak  and  hood;  I  want  you  to  see  the 
storm." 

Madeline  joined  Roland  on  deck,  and,  looking  around, 
was  awe-struck  at  the  scene.  The  wind  was  whistling 
through  the  canvas,  and  the  ship  reeling  to  and  fro 
30* 


354  WOODCLIFF. 

like  a  drunken  man,  seeming,  to  Madeline's  fears,  almost 
unmanageable. 

"  Is  there  danger,  Roland  ?"  she  asked,  clinging  closer  to 
his  protecting  arm. 

"  There  is  always  danger  in  a  storm  like  this,  and  none 
are  safe  but  those  who  are  anchored  on  the  Rock  of  Ages, 
Madeline,"  and  Roland  drew  her  closer  to  him,  and  threw 
bis  arm  around  her  to  keep  her  from  falling. 

"  This  is  a  grand  spectacle,  Roland ;  we  never  saw  the 
ocean  in  such  a  ferment.  How  insignificant  we  seem !  how 
powerless !" 

'  You  remember,  Madeline,  the  sublime  verses  from  the 
Psalms  of  David,  where  he  describes  the  life  of  the  sea 
man?  'For  he  commandeth  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind, 
which  lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to  the 
heaven,  they  go  down  again  to  the  depths :  their  soul  is 
melted  because  of  trouble.  They  reel  to  and  fro,  and 
stagger  like  a  drunken  man,  and  are  at  their  wits'  end.  Then 
they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth 
them  out  of  their  distresses.  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm, 
so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still.'  " 

Madeline  listened  to  the  rich,  deep  voice  repeating  these 
beautiful  words,  until,  calm  and  tranquil,  she  leaned  upon 
that  strong  arm  for  security,  knowing  how  he  trusted  in 
the  Lord.  But  the  hurricane  increased,  the  rain  beat  fear 
fully  around  them,  the  waves  rose  mountain  high,  and, 
washing  over  the  deck,  compelled  them  to  seek  shelter 
below. 

"  Shall  I  come  in,  Madeline  ?"  asked  Roland,  when  he 
reached  the  cabin  door. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Bruce !  come  in,  don't  leave  us !"  called 
out  Aunt  Matilda,  who  was  suffering  agonies.  "We  shall 
all  be  lost!  oh,  hear  the  wind,  how  it  howls!  And  how 
the  vessel  rocks !  Listen !  listen,  Mr.  Bruce,  to  the  crack 
ling  timbers!  Can  the  vessel  stand  this  storm ?"  and  Aunt 
Matilda  wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  355 

"Be  calm,  my  dear  Miss  Hamilton,"  was  Roland's  an 
swer;  "let  us  commit  ourselves  to  God,  there  is  safety  no 
where  else,"  and  he  knelt  down  in  the  midst  of  the  anxious 
company,  and,  in  earnest  words  of  fervent  trust,  he  called 
upon  the  God  of  the  tempest,  and  still  "Looking  aloft," 
was  calm. 

Presently,  the  ship  gave  a  heavy  lurch,  and  rolled  over 
on  her  side ;  all  were  thrown  violently  down  on  one  side 
of  the  cabin,  but  she  did  not  right  again.  Edmund  Norris 
ran  to  the  ladies'  cabin,  for  he  felt  the  fearful  danger. 

"  We  are  going,  Mr.  Norris !"  called  Aunt  Matilda ;  "  we 
are  sinking,  I  am  sure  1  O;  God,  have  mercy !  have 
mercy !" 

"  Not  yet,  my  dear  madam.  The  captain  has  ordered 
the  main-mast  sawed  away,  and  then  we  shall  probably 
right  again." 

Roland,  seated  on  the  floor  of  the  cabin,  held  Madeline 
in  his  arms.  Not  a  word  escaped  her  lips,  for  she  was 
quietly  reposing  upon  the  promises  of  her  Saviour. 

"  We  are  in  great  danger,  Madeline ;  are  you  resting 
upon  the  Saviour,  dearest  ?"  and  Roland  bent  down  in 
agony  over  the  pale  face  that  lay  upon  his  bosom. 

"  I  know  it,  Roland,  but  perfect  trust  fills  my  heart ;  and 
if  we  go  down  in  the  deep  water,  it  is  with  you,  my  dearest 
friend,  and  we  shall  enter  Heaven  together,  and  never  go 
out  again." 

It  was  an  hour  when  the  ceremonies  of  life  were  all 
forgotten,  and  Roland  pressed  a  warm  kiss  upon  the  cold 
forehead  and  the  pale  lips  that  were  whispering  these 
precious  words.  In  another  minute  the  ship  righted,  and 
the  cheers  of  the  sailors  resounded  throughout  the  ship. 

"  Let  us  thank  God,  Miss  Hamilton,"  said  Roland,  as  he 
turned  to  Aunt  Matilda;  "for  I  hope  that  the  storm  is 
subsiding,"  and  he  poured  out,  in  their  midst,  an  earnest 
thanksgiving  for  the  deliverance  which  he  trusted  was  near. 
Gradually  the  storm  abated,  and,  towards  morning,  the 


356  WOODCLIFF. 

waves  sank  to  their  ordinary  bed,  and  the  vessel  went  on 
her  way.  A  temporary  mast  had  to  be  erected,  but,  as 
they  were  nearing  port,  little  anxiety  was  felt. 

Madeline  blushed  when  she  next  met  Roland,  for  she 
feared  that,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  she  had  betrayed  too 
much  ;  but  the  sweet  remembrance  of  his  whispered  words 
had  banished  all  remaining  doubts,  and  now  she  knew  that 
Lavinia's  tales  about  Helen  Thornly  must  all  be  false ;  for 
Roland  and  honor  were  to  her  but  one  name.  Edmund 
Norris  had  witnessed  the  scene  in  the  storm,  and  under 
stood  now  the  silence  of  his  friend  whenever  he  had  men 
tioned  the  name  of  Madeline  Hamilton. 

They  were  now  nearing  port.  In  a  few  days,  speeding 
up  the  bay,  they  were  at  home.  Roland  took  lodgings  for 
himself  and  aunt  in  New  York,  and  Madeline  prepared  to 
return  to  Woodcliff. 

"  You  will  go  with  us,  Roland,"  said  Madeline ;  "  we 
must  look  to  you  to  aid  us  in  the  last  said  offices  for  dear 
papa,"  and  the  young  man  accompanied  the  party. 

"  You  will  come  on  to  see  us,  Mrs.  Douglass,"  was 
Madeline's  last  farewell. 

It  was  a  sad  return ;  for,  instead  of  the  beloved  father, 
nought  remained  but  the  sacred  dust  to  be  consigned  to 
the  silent  grave.  The  servants  gathered  in  reverence  in 
the  hall,  as  the  family  entered.  Joy  at  their  return  was 
mingled  with  deep  sorrow,  for  they  had  all  loved  kind  Mr. 
Hamilton. 

In  two  days,  arrangements  were  made  for  the  interment ; 
and,  in  the  midst  of  bis  own  people,  and  the  surrounding 
neighborhood,  he  was  laid  by  the  side  of  his  departed  wife, 
and  the  service  that  he  had  loved  whispered  its  sublime 
consolations  over  his  grave.  Roland  returned  to  New 
York,  and  resumed  the  active  duties. of  his  daily  life. 

Not  long  after  Madeline's  arrival,  the  old  ta>ok,  coming 
to  her  sitting-room,  asked  to  see  her  for  one  moment. 

"  Mies  Madeline,  there  was  a  strange  woman  here  the 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  357 

otlu.ii'  day,  inquiring  when  you  would  be  at  home ;  she 
spoke  some  queer  language,  I  don't  think  it  was  an  Irish 
tongue,  and  she  called  herself  Elsie." 

"  Did  she  say  that  she  would  come  again,  Betty  ?"  in 
quired  Madeline. 

"  Yes ;  I  told  her  when  you  were  expected,  and  she  said 
that  she  would  come  soon.  She  was  very  tired  and 
hungry,  and  I  gave  her  a  good  supper;  that  was  right, 
was  it  not,  Miss  Madeline  ?" 

"Yes,  Betty,  do  not  turn  any  one  away  that  wants 
something  to  eat  from  Woodcliff ;  we  have  a  great  deal  to 
spare,  and  it  is  such  a  blessed  thing  to  give.'' 

In  about  a  week,  Mrs.  Douglass  came  down  to  pay  a 
visit.  Aunt  Matilda  was  polite,  for  she  was  too  kind- 
hearted  to  be  rude  in  her  own  home. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  thing  from  Mr.  Brace's  father  ?" 
inquired  Madeline. 

"  Nae,  not  yet;  but  I  hae  advertised  in  several  papers, 
an'  hope  that  I  may  get  some  tiding  afore  lang." 

"  It  is  strange  that  he  should  have  left  his  family  so  sud 
denly,  Mrs.  Douglass." 

"  He  was  aye  an  odd  mon,  Miss  Hamilton,  prone  to 
fits  of  melancholy,  an'  we  often  feared  that  he  wud  gang 
crazy." 

After  she  had  been  a  few  days  at  Woodcliff,  an  old 
woman  called  to  see  her ;  in  going  to  the  hall,  what  was 
Mrs.  Douglass'  surprise  to  see  Elsie  Gibson !  whom  she  im 
mediately  recognized. 

"  Is  that  ye,  Elsie  ?"  said  the  lady,  grasping  her  hand. 

"  I'm  owre  glad  to  see  yer  face,  ma'am;  you  were  aye  like 
yer  brither  Stephen." 

"  Can  ye  tell  me  ony  thing  aboot  him,  Elsie  ?  I  hae  a 
fancy  that  he  is  still  amang  us;  and  I  maun  find  him." 

"It  hae  been  a  lang  time  syne  he  cam  to  this  country, 
Mrs.  Douglass,  an'  his  family  had  na  seen  him  for  years." 

"  There  is  property  in  Scotland  which   canna  be  settled 


358  WOODCLIFP. 

until  we  find  the  heir,  Elsie,  an'  if  ye  ken  ony  thing  aboot 
him,  will  ye  na  tell  his  sister'"' 

"  His  loss  was  published  in  the  papers  in  America.  Mrs. 
Douglass,  an'  that  is  a'  that  I  can  say,  ma'am." 

Elsie  would  say  no  more,  and  spent  the  rest  of  her  time 
in  making  inquiries  after  her  kindred  in  Scotland. 

"  Are  ye  na  ganging  home,  Elsie  ?"  continued  Mrs.  Dou 
glass,  "  there  is  a  comfortable  hoose  waiting  for  ye  wi'  your 
sister,  and  she  is  sair  grieved  that  ye  bide  sae  lang  awa'.1' 

"As  soon  as  my  wark  is  done  in  America,  I  will  gang  to 
my  ain  people,  for  I  hae  greeted  sair  for  them  ;  but  my 
wark  is  na  finished  yet ;  fare  ye  weel,  ma'am,  I  shall  see  ye 
ancc  rnair,"  and  Elsie  took  her  departure. 

Mrs.  Douglass  returned  to  New  York,  and  still  con 
tinued  her  advertisements,  for  it  was  all  that  she  could  do. 
After  she  had  been  there  some  months,  a  note  reached  her 
from  a  family  in  Newark,  requesting  her  to  call,  as  they 
could  give  her  some  information  with  regard  to  the  person 
of  whom  she  was  in  search. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Antrim  were  a  Scotch  couple  living  quietly 
outside  of  Newark,  having  resided  for  twenty  years  \9 
America — Mrs.  Antrim,  a  neat,  elderly  person,  received  Mj's. 
Douglass  cordially. 

"  I  saw  your  advertisement,  madam,  and  it  struck  me 
that  I  might  give  you  some  information  concerning  your 
lost  friend." 

"  It  is  my  brother,  madam,  wha  is  subject  to  fits  of  de 
rangement,  an'  wha  I  think  is  in  America." 

Mrs.  Antrim  described  a  mysterious  man  who  had  long 
lived  in  their  neighborhood. 

Mrs.  Douglass  listened  with  deep  interest,  for  she  \v;is 
sure  that  she  had  found  her  brother. 

"  When  was  he  here  last,  Mrs.  Antrim  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Last  Monday,  and  said  that  he  would  come  this  week.-" 

"  Can  ye  accommodate  me  wi'  board  for  a  few  weeks  ?" 

"  I  think  that  we  can  ;  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  taking 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  359 

lodgers,  but  if  it  will  be  the  means  of  bringing  this  poor 
man  back  to  his  family,  I  will  do  it  cheerfully." 

"  I  dread  seeing  him,  Mrs.  Antrim,  for  if  he  kens  the  face 
o'  his  sister,  he  will  ne'er  come  again." 

"  We  must  be  very  cautious  ;  do  not  address  him,  Mrs. 
Douglass,  take  no  notice  of  him.  I  have  a  little  grandson 
of  whom  he  is  very  fond ;  he  is  the  only  one  that  can  make 
him  talk;  Mje  must  watch  for  opportunities." 

Mrs.  Douglass  provided  herself  with  a  pair  of  green 
spectacles,  and  a  very  plain  Quaker  dress,  that  completely 
metamorphosed  her,  for  the  bonnet  so  entirely  hid  her  face, 
that  her  own  relations  would  not  have  recognized  her ; 
this  she  was  to  wear  whenever  the  strange  visitor  should 
appear. 

In  a  few  days,  Mrs.  Antrim  came  up  to  Mrs.  Douglass' 
room. 

"  He  is  coming,  you  had  better  change  your  dress." 

Mrs.  Douglass  did  not  appear  until  tea-time ;  she  then 
quietly  took  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  had  time  to  scruti 
nize  the  strange  guest.  Years  had  made  great  changes  ; 
the  tall  form  was  bent,  the  black  hair  was  thin,  and  streaked 
with  gray,  the  bright  eye  was  dim  and  wandering,  the  once 
rich,  dark  complexion  sallow,  and  the  cheeks  hollow  and 
shrivelled  ;  an  uncertain  flickering  smile  played  around  the 
lips  once  so  stern  and  firm ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
Stephen  Bruce  —  there  was  the  marked  finger,  the  same 
voice,  and  the  remains  of  the  same  brother  that  had  once 
sat  by  her  side  at  her  father's  board.  He  talked  but  little, 
for  he  saw  that  there  was  a  stranger  present.  The  little 
grandson  was  at  the  table. 

"  Sit  by  me,  George,"  said  the  man,  as  he  drew  the  child 
next  to  him,  and  continued,  "  shall  I  gie  him  some  o'  these 
cakes,  Mrs.  Antrim  ?" 

"  Yes,  Robert,  but  not  many." 

"  Where  hae  ye  been  a'  this  week,  my  little  nion?  ye  hae 
na'  been  to  see  auld  Robert  ance." 


360  WOODCLIPP. 

"  I  have  been  sick,  Robert,  and  grandma  would  not  let 
me  go  out." 

The  boy  was  about  ten  years  aid,  the  age  that  Roland 
was  when  his  father  had  disappeared,  and  had  the  same 
dark  eyes  and  hair.  The  man  smoothed  the  dark  hair  as 
he  said, 

"  He  is  just  like  ane  I  luve,  Mrs.  Antrim." 

Mrs.  Douglass  could  scarcely  control  her  feelings,  and 
finding  that  her  food  was  almost  choking  her,  she  arose 
hastily,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Where  has  the  strange  woman  gane,  Mrs.  Antrim  ? 
Did  I  frighten  her  awa'  ?  What  does  she  wear  that  bonnet 
for?" 

"  She  has  had  weak  eyes,  and  is  not  very  well,  Robert." 

"  I  heard  her  speak  aince,  Mrs.  Antrim ;  I  think  that  I 
hae  heard  the  voice  afore;  let  me  see,"  and  be  placed  his 
finger  upon  his  lip,  as  he  continued,  "  I  can  na'  remember, 
but  I  hae  heard  it  somewhere." 

He  left  soon  after  tea,  and  Mrs.  Douglass,  deeply  agitated, 
declared  that  it  was  her  lost  brother. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do,  Mrs.  Douglass?" 

"  To  tak'  him  hame  wi'  me  to  Scotland ;  our  property  can 
na'  be  settled  until  he  gaes." 

"  I  fear  that  you  will  have  great  trouble  before  you  can 
do  this." 

Several  visits  were  paid,  but  still  no  progress  towards 
acquaintance ;  at  last  one  day,  he  said  suddenly  to  Mrs. 
Antrim, 

"Is  that  a  Quaker  lady?  She  seems  very  quiet,  not 
ane  o'  the  clattering  kind  o'  women.  I  hae  twa  books 
which  I  ken  would  please  her, — the  lives  o'  George  Fox 
an'  William  Penn ;  I  wonder  if  she  would  come  up  to  my 
little  cottage." 

This  was  wonderful  for  Robert  Duncan,  but  he  seemed 
to  regard  the  quiet  lady  with  a  sort  of  pity.  Mrs.  Antrim 
communicated  the  news  to  Mrs.  Douglass,  and  with  many 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  361 

charges  to  conceal  her  emotion,  they  walked  up  to  the 
humble  home.  It  had  but  two  rooms,  very  plainly  fur 
nished —  on  one  side  of  his  sleeping-room  hung  a  shelf  of 
books. 

"  Will  ye  sit  doon,  ma'am  ?"  said  Robert  to  the  Quaker 
lady,  and  bringing  the  volumes  spoken  of,  he  continued, 
"  I  thought  that  ye  might  like  these  books,  ma'am ;  wud  ye 
like  to  read  them  ?" 

Mrs.  Douglass  replied,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  If  thee  will  lend 
them  to  me,  Robert." 

He  tried  to  look  under  her  bonnet,  as  he  said,  "  It  is  vera 
like  her  voice." 

"Whose  voice,  Robert?"  asked  Mrs.  Antrim 

"  It  dinna  matter,  ma'am,  it  can  na'  be  ;  for  she  is  far 
awa'." 

While  they  were  looking  over  the  other  books,  two  pic 
tures  fell  out  from  between  the  leaves  of  one.  It  was  but 
a  glance  —  but  it  was  Mary  Gordon's  face,  and  Roland's 
when  a  lovely  child.  Mrs.  Douglass  was  thrown  off  her 
guard  ;  she  seized  the  pictures. 

"  Where  did  ye  get  these,  Robert  Duncan?"  and  the  man, 
alarmed,  gathered  up  the  pictures,  and  hurried  off  into  the 
next  room.  Before  they  left  the  cottage,  he  came  back, 
and  with  the  suspicious  glance  of  returning  insanity, 
said, — 

"  What  do  ye  ken  aboot  these  pictures  ?  hae  ye  e'er  seen 
them  before  ?"  and  before  she  could  reply,  Robert  had 
rushed  out  of  the  cottage,  into  a  woods  near  by,  and  as 
they  returned  home,  they  saw  him  peeping  with  a  dark 
countenance  at  them  from  behind  some  trees. 

"  I  fear  that  we  shall  not  see  him  soon  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Antrim ;  "he  will  have  one  of  his  dark  spells,  and  we  must 
let  him  seek  us  now." 

For  weeks  no  tidings  were  heard  of  the  poor  man,  and 
Mrs.  Douglass  began  to  fear  that  her  mission  was  fruitless, 
[t  was  some  time  before  he  appeared  at  church  again,  and 
31 


362  WOODCLIFF. 

bent  on  avoiding  them,  ho  went  out  at  a  side  door,  and 
they  did  not  force  themselves  upon  his  notice. 

For  several  weeks  it  was  the  same — Mrs.  Antrim  hoped, 
however,  that  the  loneliness  of  the  cottage-  would  bring 
him  to  their  fireside  in  search  of  his  little  friend  George. 

A  salutation  at  the  church-door,  and  a  walk  home  with 
Mrs.  Antrim,  was  the  first  encouraging  sign ;  and  the  next 
afternoon,  Robert  was  seen  coming  slowly  up  the  garden 
path. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  not  appear,  Mrs.  Douglass,  until 
he  asks  for  you,"  said  the  hostess. 

"  I  could  na'  stay  awa'  frae  little  George  any  mair,  Mrs. 
Antrim ;  how  fares  the  bairn  ?" 

"  He  has  been  asking  for  you  every  day,  Robert." 

The  poor  man  looked  pleased,  as  he  caressed  the  little 
fellow. 

After  a  few  more  visits,  he  asked  for  Mrs.  Douglass. 

"  Where  is  the  Quaker  lady,  Mrs.  Antrim  ?" 

"  She  will  be  here  directly,  Robert,"  and  Mrs.  Douglass 
appeared  without  her  bonnet ;  a  simple  cap  alone  covered 
her  fine  dark  hair. 

Robert  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  face,  as  though 
he  were  studying  the  resemblance  to  some  one  whom  he 
had  known. 

"  Did  ye  always  live  in  America,  ma'am  ?"  inquired  he. 

The  question  was  unexpected. 

"I  hae  been  here  for  some  time,  Robert." 

"Yer  dialect  is  Scotch,  ma'am ;  hae  ye  iver  lived  in 
Scotland?" 

"  That  is  my  native  land,  Robert." 

No  more  conversation  passed  at  this  time,  and  he  took 
his  leave. 

Absent  again  for  some  weeks,  they  sent  to  inquire,  and 
found  that  he  was  very  sick. 

"  I  will  mak'  a  desperate  trial,  Mrs.  Antrim ;  there  hae 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  363 

been  no  progress  yet  in  my'mission  ;  an'  I  maun  try  anither 
mode ;  let  me  gae  this  time  to  see  him." 

"  You  may  go,  Mrs.  Douglass,  and  may  God  be  with 
you." 

Throwing  off  her  Quaker  dress,  she  assumed  her  former 
garb,  and  tremblingly  proceeded  to  the  cottage.  Robert 
was  very  sick ;  confined  entirely  to  his  bed. 

She  entered,  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  advanced  to  the 
bedside. 

"  Stephen  Bruce !  my  brother  Stephen !  dinna  ye  ken  yer 
sister?" 

The  countenance  of  the  sick  man  darkened,  as  he  replied, 

"  Wha  are  ye  that  come  to  fash  a  puir  sick  mon  by  calling 
him  by  a  wrang  name  ?" 

"  Dinna  ye  ken  yer  am  sister  Annie,  Stephen  ?" 

"  My  sister  Annie  is  in  Scotland,"  replied  the  man, 
thrown  off  his  guard. 

"  She  is  by  yer  side,  Stephen,  yer  ain  loving,  faithfu'  sis 
ter  ;  she  has  crossed  the  deep  ocean  to  find  ye,  an'  God  be 
praised,  she  has  na'  come  in  vain." 

"  Why  do  ye  seek  me,  Annie  ?  I  am  but  a  puir  wretched 
mon;  ye  canna'  want  sic  a  brother." 

"  Ye  are  sair  distraught,  Stephen  ;  I  cam  to  tak'  ye  hame, 
that  ye  may  get  yer  ain,  my  brother." 

"  Nane  wad  want  to  see  a  mon  that  had  forsaken  wife  an' 
bairns  as  I  hae  done,  Annie.'' 

"Just  consent  to  gang  wi'  me,  Stephen." 

But  no  words  could  change  the  determination  of  Stephen 
Bruce ;  he  listened  moodily  to  all  his  sister's  arguments ; 
but  all  was  in  vain. 

She  took  her  departure,  and  her  heart  sank  within  her 
when  she  heard  the  bolts  slide,  fastening  doors  and  win 
dows  against  another  entrance. 

She  sent  each  day  to  inquire  ;  he  was  getting  better ;  but 
no  inducements  could  persuade  him  to  open  his  door  to  the 
family  at  Mrs.  Antrim's,  not  even  to  little  George. 


364  WOODCLIFF. 

In  a  few  days,  the  cottage  was  forsaken ;  and  Stephen 
had  vanished  from  the  neighborhood.  Thus  the  link  so 
lately  found  was  lost  once  more. 

In  vain  Mrs.  Douglass  sought  for  tidings ;  there  was  no 
clue  whatever  to  his  movements. 

"  I  hae  no  hope  but  in  Elsie  Gibson,  Mrs.  Antrim ;  I 
think  that  I  shall  see  her  soon." 

Advertisements  were  again  inserted  in  the  newspaper ; 
but  still  no  news. 

At  length  Elsie  made  her  appearance. 

"  I  hae  found  my  brother,  Elsie,  an'  lost  him  again  ;  can 
ye  tell  me  where  he  is  ?" 

"  I  need  na'  be  so  secret  noo,  as  ye  ken  that  he  lives ;  he 
has  a  strange  dislike  towards  his  kin,  but  I  hope  that  we 
may  ow'rcome  it,  for  he  is  na  sae  bad  as  he  was." 

"  Where  is  he,  Elsie  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Douglass. 

"  He  is  aboot  tharty  miles  frae  here,  wi'  an  auld  woman, 
who  is  kind  to  him." 

"  What  led  ye  to  this  country,  Elsie  ?" 

"  Ye  ken  the  history  o'  my  early  days,  Annie  Douglass  ; 
and  ye  ken  fu'  well  that  Elsie  ne'er  forsakes  the  ane  she 
luves,  though  Stephen  luved  anither.  When  the  tidings  o' 
his  loss  reached  Scotland,  I  greeted  sair  for  him  wha  lay 
buried  in  the  deep  sea ;  but  when  he  appeared  suddenly 
amang  us,  I  saw  that  his  puir  mind  was  a'  shattered,  for 
he  seemed  dark  an'  gloomy,  and  could  na'  bear  the  sight  o' 
Malcolm  Graham.  He  was  aye  jealous  o'  that  stricken 
mon ;  an'  had  the  notion  that  Malcolm  yet  luved  his  wife 
wi'  a  fond  an'  tender  luve.  He  hid  himsel'  frae  his  friends, 
got  some  o'  his  money  secretly,  bound  me  by  a  solemn  oath 
to  keep  his  secret,  and  then  started  again  for  America  to 
watch  his  wife.  I  kenned  that  he  was  crazy ;  an'  leaving 
a  comfortable  hame,  where  I  had  enow  to  live  on  weel,  I 
cam'  owre  here  ;  found  puir  Stephen  separated  frae  his  wife 
and  bairns,  an'  wandering  aboot  wi'out  a  hame.  I  could 
na  persuade  him  to  gae  back  to  his  wife ;  but  he  employed 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  365 

me  to  see  that  their  wants  were  weel  supplied.  I  went 
out  to  sarvice,  for  I  had  nae  ither  way  to  live.  At  last,  the 
money  he  had  brought  was  gane ;  he  had  become  so  much 
warse  that  he  could  na'  tell  me  how  to  write  to  Scotland ; 
then  cam'  the  dark  days.  I  had  to  wark  vera  hard  to  find 
a  hame  for  puir  Stephen ;  the  only  thing  that  I  am  sorry 
for  was  that  I  agreed  to  stop  the  letters  which  Mary  sent 
to  Scotland,  for  he  was  beset  wi'  the  notion  that,  in  this 
way,  she  could  hear  frae  Malcolm ;  an'  he  was  niver  at  rest 
until  I  brought  the  letters,  an'  he  destroyed  them  in  my 
sight.  Then  he  seemed  a  little  better ;  for  he  felt  that  he 
had  closed  the  door  for  aye  between  his  pure  an'  holy  wife 
an'  the  mon  that  she  had  luved  sae  truly.  But  Stephen 
luved  her  a'  the  time.  I  used  to  tak'  him  sometimes  seve 
ral  lang  mile  just  to  get  a  glint  o'  Mary  an?  her  bairns  in 
her  humble  cottage.  I  led  him  to  her  grave,  an'  I  saw  him 
weep  bitter  tears  owre  the  green  sod,  and  owre  the  grave 
o'  his  daughter,  Effie ;  an'  I  hoped  that  the  warm  tears  wad 
wash  awa'  the  cloud  owre  the  puir  brain ;  but  it  is  there 
yet,  Annie  ;  an'  I  ken  o'  only  ane  ither  way  to  lead  him 
hame.  I  hae  told  him  meikle  aboot  his  son  Roland ;  he 
luves  that  boy  wi'  a'  a  father's  pride ;  if  he  could  see  him, 
he  might  prevail  on  him  to  gang  back  to  Scotland.  I  hae 
helped  to  bear  Stephen's  sorrows,  Annie,  an'  a'  the  pay  I 
ask  is  just  to  see  him  happy ;  an'  that  is  my  mission  here, 
Annie  ;  when  I  see  him  wi'  his  ain  people  ance  mair,  an' 
his  puir  stricken  heart  at  rest,  then  I  shall  gang  hame 
again,  an'  spend  the  rest  o'  my  life  in  preparing  for  my  last 
journey." 

Mrs.  Douglass  listened  with  many  tears  to  this  sad  story, 
and  agreed  with  Elsie  in  the  fancy  that  Roland  only  could 
persuade  his  father  to  return. 

She  lost  no  time  in  writing ;  Roland  came  at  once,  and 
the  three  set  out  to  find  the  heart-broken  man. 

Elsie  entered  first.     "  Stephen,  I  hae  brought  a  friend, 
whom  ye  wad  luve  to  see,  an'  wha  wad  luve  to  see  ye." 
31* 


366  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Wha  is  it,  Elsie  ?  wha  can  want  to  see  sic  a  mon 
as  I  ?" 

"  Yer  son  Roland ;  as  soon  as  he  heard  where  ye  are, 
he  left  all,  an'  is  here,  langing  to  see  his  father." 

"  Elsie,  how  can  he  e'er  forget  the  days  o'  poverty  an' 
woe  that  I  hae  brought  upon  his  mother?" 

"  He  is  a  Christian,  Stephen ;  he  has  forgiven  a'  the 
past,  an'  a'  that  he  wants  noo  is  to  see  his  father,  an'  be  a 
guid  an  faithfu'  son  to  him,  as  he  was  aye  to  his  departed 
mother." 

"  Bring  him  in,  Elsie ;  I  maun  see  my  boy." 

Roland  entered,  and  before  he  could  prevent  it,  Stephen 
had  crawled  out  of  bed,  and  lay  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  his 
son. 

Roland  instantly  raised  him  from  the  ground. 

"  Do  not  kneel  to  me,  my  father ;  I  came  to  seek  you  as 
a  loving,  faithful  son." 

"  I  can  na  look  upon  yer  face,  yer  young  noble  face, 
Roland,  for  I  am  na  worthy  o'  sic  a  son." 

"  Dear  father,  let  us  forget  the  past ;  my  mother  would 
smile  upon  this  reunion,  and  now  your  sorrows  are  all  over ; 
I  will  cherish  and  keep  you  as  a  true  and  loyal  son." 

Stephen  Bruce  could  not  resist  the  generous  appeal,  but 
lifting  up  his  voice,  the  poor  man  wept ;  the  fountains  of 
the  great  deep  of  feeling  were  broken  up,  and  stormed  the 
bosom  of  the  heart-broken  penitent. 

Elsie  Gibson  stood  by — poor,  faithful  Elsie ;  her  mission 
was  accomplished ;  her  woman's  unselfish  love  was  all  re 
paid.  She  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  wept  long  and 
quietly,  for  hers  were  the  tears  of  grateful,  happy  feeling. 
Roland  beckoned  to  his  aunt. 

Stephen  raised  his  head,  the  pale  lips  quivered,  as  he 
said,  "  come,  sister  Annie,  we  are  a'  as  ane  again ;"  and 
stretching  out  his  arms,  he  folded  in  the  embrace  of  a  bro 
ther's  love,  the  twin-sister  of  his  early  days.  There  was 
no  more  need  to  persuade  Stephen  to  return  to  Scotland ; 


THE    FIRST    LINK    LOST    AND    FOUND.  367 

his  anxiety  to  secure  to  this  honored  son  all  his  rights, 
made  him  eager  to  set  sail,  that  he  might,  in  some  measure, 
atone  for  past  neglect. 

"  You  will  return  to  America,  my  father,  as  soon  as  all 
is  settled." 

'•  Yes,  my  son,  I  can  na'  be  parted  ony  mair ;  I  maun 
look  to  ye,  my  boy,  for  the  strong  arm ;  for  I  am  a  puir 
broken  doon  auld  mon,  auld  before  my  time ;"  and  Stephen 
folded  his  son  in  his  arms  with  feelings  of  deepest  reverence 
and  love.  Elsie !  poor  faithful  Elsie,  stood  in  weeping 
silence. 

"  Fareweel,  Elsie !  guid  an'  faithfu'  friend !  ye  hae  been 
true  through  the  darkest  days,  an'  God  will  bless  ye  ;"  and 
Stephen  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head,  as  he  said,  "  True 
an'  faithfu'  may  we  a'  meet  abuve."  As  soon  as  possible, 
arrangements  were  made  to  leave  America;  farewells  ex 
changed  ;  and  Roland,  hastening  from  the  ship,  could  still 
glance  upward,  and  say,  "  Looking  aloft !" 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

HEARTS'  EASE. 

FOREIGN  travel,  association  with  Malcolm  Graham,  and 
abundant  opportunity  in  Paris,  London,  and  Scotland,  for 
improvement,  had  done  much  for  Roland.  It  was  seen  in 
his  daily  life,  in  bis  professional  career,  and  in  the  polished 
grace  always  attendant  upon  a  highly-cultivated  mind,  and 
a  heart  purified  by  holy  principles. 

Roland  was  henceforth  among  the  leading  members  of 
the  younger  barristers  of  the  great  metropolis ;  for  although 
but  few  could  be  found  to  adopt  his  principles  of  action, 
none  failed  to  respect  his  character. 

Mr.  Thornly's  patronage  was  generously  extended  to  the 
young  man,  and  the  society  met  at  his  house  was  from 
among  the  choice  families  of  the  crowded  city. 

Edgar  was  still  cheering  his  father's  heart  by  the  evident 
improvement  in  his  moral  character,  and  earnest  devotion 
to  study. 

Mr.  Thornly  could  never  forget  the  debt  of  gratitude 
which  he  owed  to  Roland;  and  for  Helen,  alas!  it  had 
been  a  dangerous  privilege  to  dwell  in  the  house  with  Ro 
land  Bruce. 

He  is  now  a  prosperous  man — but  does  he  forget  the 
humble  friends  who  had  sheltered  him  in  the  days  of  his 
deep  adversity  ?  No — for  no  sooner  had  he  returned  to 
New  York  than  he  remembered  Richard  and  Martha 
Green. 

Prosperity  warms  and  expands  a  noble  heart,  and  only 
(368) 


HEARTS'  EASE.  369 

chills  the  sordid — and  from  the  open  purse  of  this  child  of 
Providence,  many  liberal  donations  found  their  way  to  the 
"News-Boys'  Home."  A  valuable  library  now  filled  the 
book-case  in  the  reading-room,  and  none  knew  the  generous 
donor ;  but  no  boy  spending  his  quiet  evenings  in  useful 
reading  could  experience  half  of  the  delicious  pleasure  that 
Roland  enjoyed,  when  sitting  among  them,  hearing  and 
answering  their  questions;  remembering  that  his  means 
had  contributed  the  larger  number  to  the  shelves. 

Roland's  name  often  appeared  in  the  public  prints  in 
connection  with  important  law  cases,  and  never  without 
abundant  praise  ;  but  remembering  the  source  whence  all 
came,  he  was  not  high-minded,  but  grateful ;  for  it  was  God 
who  gave  him  intellectual  power  and  influence ;  the  God 
who  in  one  moment  could  lay  his  finger  on  that  active 
brain,  and  produce  universal  chaos. 

Entering  the  reading-room  one  evening,  Roland  per 
ceived  a  stranger,  evidently  a  gentleman,  sitting  at  the 
table ;  he  raised  his  head  on  Roland's  entrance. 

"  Why,  Stanley !  is  this  you,  my  good  fellow  ?  Where 
did  you  come  from  ?'' 

"  I  have  been  in  New  York  some  time,  Roland,  pursuing 
my  studies  ;  and  seeing  your  name  in  the  papers,  I  have 
been  trying  to  trace  your  steps.  I  am  interested  in  these 
good  works,  and  coming  to  visit  this  institution,  I  found 
that  you  were  among  its  laborers,  and  have  waited  to  see 
you." 

"  It  does  me  good,  Stanley,  to  see  your  honest  face  once 
more." 

"And  I  am  no  less  glad  to  meet  you,  Roland,"  shaking 
him  heartily  by  the  hand ;  "  I  was  a  wild  chap  in  those 
college  days." 

"  Yes,  Stanley ;  but  you  were  a  whole-hearted  fellow, 
even  when  you  were  doing  wrong." 

"  Those  days  are  over,  Roland, — what  would  you  say  if 


370  WOODCLIFF. 

I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  am  now  among  the  saints,  though 
the  very  humblest  of  them  all  ?" 

"What  would  I  say,  Stanley?  Is  it  really  so?  Give 
me  your  hand,  your  old  honest  grasp,  and  let  me  clasp  it 
as  a  Christian  brother.  How  was  it,  Stanley  ?  Tell  me 
all  about  the  great  change.'' 

"  It  is  told  in  a  few  words — the  first  sermon  that  I  ever 
really  heard,  was  preached  at  my  sick-bed,  by  one  who 
lived  the  Christian — it  sank  right  down  into  my  very  soul ; 
it  spoke  volumes  to  me ;  it  haunted  me  night  and  day  ;  for 
then  I  began  to  feel  that  I  really  was  a  miserable  sinner. 
I  tried  to  silence  the  voice,  but  it  spoke  deeper,  louder.  It 
followed  me  into  the  very  dens  of  dissipated  city  life.  God 
be  praised  that  it  did !  I  could  obtain  no  rest.  Suddenly, 
1  gave  up  my  evil  ways,  and  my  bad  companions ;  and  at  a 
supper,  where  many  of  them  were  gathered,  I  publicly  re 
nounced  them  all — they  were  amazed;  they  tried  the  power 
of  ridicule ;  but  they  knew  Stanley,  and  soon  left  me  to 
myself.  I  found  peace  in  Jesus,  and  I  am  not  ashamed, 
Roland,  of  the  gospel  of  Christ — unworthy  as  I  am,  I  am 
preparing  to  be  an  ambassador  of  him  whom  I  once  derided 
and  persecuted." 

For  a  moment  Roland  was  silent.  He  remembered  the 
earnest,  fervent  prayers,  which  he  had  poured  out  in  behalf 
of  Stanley;  the  answer  had  been  long  delayed,  but  it  had 
come  at  last.  They  left  the  room  arm  in  arm,  Christian 
brothers.  Roland  was  full  of  joyful  anticipation,  for  he 
knew  the  earnest  character  of  this  young  man,  and  believed 
that,  like  a  second  Paul,  he  would  preach  the  everlasting 
gospel. 

Introducing  him  into  the  family  of  Mr.  Thornly,  he  was 
frequently  in  his  society,  and  found  what  he  had  long 
desired,  a  fellow-laborer  in  his  Master's  cause. 

Helen  was  interested  in  the  bold  young  champion  of 
truth,  for  she  was  herself  becoming  daily  more  devoted  to 
the  cause  of  the  Redeemer,  less  assimilated  to  the  spirit  of 


HKARTS'    EASE.  371 

the  world.  With  her  father's  full  consent,  she  took  an  open 
stand  with  the  friends  of  Jesus,  and  from  that  day,  her 
course  was  upward  and  onward  in  the  Christian  life. 

Madeline  occasionally  visited  New  York  on  business,  for 
she  was  still  engaged  in  writing  her  little  books  —  entirely 
separated  from  the  gay  world,  not  only  by  her  mourning 
dress,  but  by  deliberate  choice,  she  was  only  found  in  the 
domestic  circles  of  intimate  friends.  She  was  still  annoyed 
by  the  public  attentions  of  Henry  Castleton,  for  personal 
vanity  had  made  him  blind  to  the  positive  aversion  of  his 
cousin  Madeline. 

Lavinia  is  now  on  a  visit  to  New  York,  and  is  spending 
an  evening  at  Helen  Thornly's,  in  company  with  a  few 
friends,  among  whom  is  Henry  Castleton.  The  conver 
sation  turns  upon  a  party  where  the  two  had  met. 

"  Really !"  said  Lavinia,  with  a  toss  of  her  proud  head, 
"  go  where  you  will,  one  must  meet  with  the  parvenues  of 
society ;  did  you  observe  that  Miss  Digby  dressed  out  in 
her  diamonds  and  point  lace,  for  such  a  small  social  party  ?" 
"  Yes,"  replied  Harry,  "  I  could  scarcely  restrain  a  smile, 
when  I  was  introduced  to  her;  who  is  she,  Miss  Ray 
mond  ?" 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  old  Digby,  the  great  confec 
tioner;  he  has  retired  from  business,  and  lives -in  grand 
style,  with  his  carriages,  and  his  town  and  country  house  ; 
but  you  can  see  the  vulgarity  of  the  people,  for  who  but  a 
Digby  would  ever  have  thought  of  diamonds  at  such  a 
party  ?" 

"And  who  was  that  little  Miss  Austin  ?  I  mean  the  one 
dressed  in  simple  white,  seated  in  the  corner?"  asked 
Lavinia. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  Harry's  reply,  "  but  she  was  evi 
dently  a  lady ;  so  quiet!  so  refined !  with  such  a  low  sweet 
voice,  and  dressed  in  such  excellent  taste — did  you  observe 
how  much  attention  was  paid  to  her  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  wonder  who  she  is ;  the  Browns,  the  Starrs, 


3T2  WOODCLIFF. 

and  the  Carsons  were  very  polite  to  her ;  and  you  know 
that  they  are  really  our  first  people ;  she  must  be  some 
body,  for  she  had  such  a  distinguished  air." 

Helen  let  them  run  on  with  their  folly,  and  then  quietly 
remarked  with  a  meaning  smile, 

"  Miss  Austin  is  a  governess  in  the  family  of  the  lady 
whom  you  were  visiting ;  her  father  was  a  sea-captain,  and 
her  mother  conducted  a  young  ladies'  school  for  many 
years  ;  indeed,  until  her  death  ;  her  daughter,  who  is  highly 
accomplished,  is  obliged  to  earn  her  own  living  —  she  is  a 
lady  of  great  worth  and  intelligence,  and,  happily,  is  with 
a  family  who  knows  how  to  value  such  gifts." 

Helen  and  Madeline  were  both  amused  at  the  discon 
certed  expression  upon  the  faces  of  Harry  and  Lavinia. 

"  Really  1"  said  the  latter;  "I  never  was  more  mistaken 
in  all  my  life,  for  I  took  her  for  a  lady  of  high  rank." 

"  What  are  we  coming  to  ?"  responded  Harry,  "  when 
the  daughters  of  confectioners  and  teachers  can  aspire  to 
mingle  with  the  best  circles?  I  should  not  wonder  if  shoe 
makers  and  tailors  would  creep  in.  Indeed,  I  have  met 
with  one  who  was  formerly  a  common  boot-black  in  society 
where  /  visit ;  I  am  amazed  at  his  presumption,  for  Roland 
Bruce  was  nothing  more." 

Madeline  could  restrain  herself  no  longer  —  for  although 
Helen  tried  to  hold  her  down,  she  arose  with  dignity  from 
her  chair,  while  a  crimson  glow  covered  her  whole  face, 
and  regardless  of  the  presence  of  strangers,  she  said, 

"And  do  you  presume,  Harry  Castleton,  to  look  down 
upon  such  persons  as  Miss  Austin  and  Roland  Bruce  ? 
you,  with  your  empty  head  1"  (and  she  tapped  her  pretty 
head  with  unconscious  scorn,)  "  and  they  with  their  noble 
character,  and  brilliant  powers  of  intellect — I  am  sorry  for 
you,  Harry,  with  such  a  pretty  little  figure  !  and  such  a 
paltry  little  soul!  Will  it  ever  grow  beyond  a  pigmy's? 
Roland  Bruce  will  shine  among  the  great  and  good,  when 
you  are  entirely  forgotten." 


HEARTS1    EASE.  373 

Harry  withered  beneath  her  rebuke ;  and  even  Lavinia, 
whose  lip  curled  in  contempt,  for  the  moment  looked  "awe 
struck. 

Madeline  stood  with  her  back  to  the  door,  facing  the 
glass ;  she  was  too  much  excited  to  look  forward,  or  she 
would  have  seen  the  figure  of  Roland  standing  irresolute  at 
the  door,  for  he  had  heard  all ;  and  stood,  not  knowing 
whether  to  advance  or  retire. 

It  was  a  picture  for  an  artist,  as  he  appeared  listening  to 
the  impassioned  words  bursting  from  the  lips  of  Madeline 
Hamilton.  Roland  towering  above  all  present  in  height, 
with  his  broad  expansive  brow,  on  which  sat  enthroned  a 
lofty  intellect,  the  signet  of  true  nobility ;  his  fine  dark  eye, 
and  firm,  but  sweetly  expressive,  mouth,  his  cheek  glowing 
with  the  feelings  of  the  moment ;  and  Madeline,  in  all  her 
youthful  grace  and  beauty,  with  cheek  suffused,  and  burn 
ing  eye,  her  hand  extended  towards  Harry  Castleton,  who 
durst  not  raise  his  eyes  to  hers — the  room  was  silent — sud 
denly  Madeline  raised  her  eyes,  and  in  the  mirror  opposite 
she  saw  the  figure  of  Roland  standing  behind  her,  and  cov 
ering  her  blushing  face  with  her  hands,  she  sat  down,  over 
whelmed  with  shame.  Roland  advanced,  with  great  dig 
nity,  towards  Helen  Thornly. 

"  Will  you  favor  us  with  some  music,  Miss  Helen  ?" 

She  advanced,  glad  to  break  the  painful  silence. 

Roland  did  not,  for  some  minutes,  approach  Madeline ; 
he  understood  her  feelings,  and  spared  her  the  pain  of 
drawing  any  further  notice  towards  the  sorely  mortified 
girl.  When  a  suitable  opportunity  offered,  he  quietly  took 
his  seat  by  her  side ;  he  saw  that  she  was  suffering,  for 
whenever  she  raised  her  eyes,  they  were  moistened  with 
tears,  and  her  lips  trembling  with  emotion. 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  Madeline,"  whispered  the 
young  man,  "  be  calm  if  you  can  ;  if  you  cannot,  I  will  lead 
you  to  the  other  room." 

"Don't  speak  to  me,  Roland,  I  am  ashamed  of  myself; 
32 


374  WOODCLIFP. 

such  a  burst  of  passion  in  this  public  place  !  I  wish  I  were 
in  my  room ;  I  am  not  fit  to  meet  this  provoking  young 
man." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  generous  defence  ;  but  another  time, 
Madeline,  I  will  say  more  to  you  about  it." 

"  You  despise  me,  Roland,  I  know  that  you  do ;  for  I 
despise  myself." 

"  Despise  that  warm  and  generous  heart,  Madeline ! 
Never !  do  not  entertain  the  thought  for  one  moment ;  but 
I  must  leave  you  now ;  we  are  too  much  observed.  1  will 
call  to-morrow,  if  you  will  walk  with  me  to  the  Battery." 

Crossing  to  another  part  of  the  room,  he  found  himself 
near  Lavinia  Raymond,  and  bowed  politely. 

"  Miss  Thornly  sings  well,  does  she  not,  Miss  Ray 
mond  ?" 

Lavinia  looked  surprised,  as  though  not  acquainted  with 
the  gentleman,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Her  voice  is  very  sweet,  and  she  sings  with  much  feel 
ing,"  he  continued. 

Miss  Raymond  deliberately  turned  her  back,  murmur 
ing,  "Impertinent!"  and  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room. 

Roland  smiled,  for  Madeline's  warm  and  generous  de 
fence  had  filled  his  heart  with  secret  rapture,  although  he 
could  have  wished  that  it  had  not  drawn  upon  her  so  much 
notice. 

The  evening  passed  unpleasantly,  for  Madeline's  morti 
fication  and  self-reproach  were  too  deep  to  be  easily  for 
gotten  ;  she  had  exposed  herself  in  the  presence  of  so  many 
witnesses,  had  given  way  to  an  unchristian  burst  of  temper, 
publicly  wounded  a  cousin  whom  she  should  have  tried  to 
benefit,  and,  she  was  sure,  must  have  lost  the  respect  of 
Roland  Bruce. 

Roland's  quiet  dignity  of  manner  had  won  for  him  golden 
opinions,  and  Harry  had  failed  again  in  humbling  the  man 
whom  he  both  feared  and  hated. 


HEARTS'  EASE.  315 

Lavinia  was  again  disappointed ;  for  the  company  gener 
ally  had  treated  the  one  with  marked  distinction,  the  other 
with  entire  forgetfulness  and  contempt. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Roland  called ; 
Madeline  was  ready,  but  shy,  reserved,  abashed. 

They  walked  almost  in  silence  until  they  reached  the 
Battery ;  then  seating  themselves  under  the  shade,  Roland 
addressed  the  mortified  girl, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Madeline?  you  seem  so  silent ;  are 
you  displeased  with  me  ?" 

"No;  not  with  you,  but  with  myself;  I  thought  that  I 
had  learned  to  control  my  impulsive  temper,  Roland ;  but 
I  find  that  I  have  made  no  progress.  I  own  that  I  was 
all  wrong  yesterday,  but  I  have  done  the  same  before ;  and 
on  the  first  provocation,  I  am  tempted,  and  overcome 
again." 

"  Your  motive,  Madeline,  was  noble ;  and,  as  Miss  Aus 
tin  was  not  present  to  defend  herself,  it  was  generous  in 
you  to  be  her  champion." 

Madeline  looked  her  thanks  to  Roland,  for  she  saw  how 
he  was  trying  to  reconcile  her  to  herself,  and  understood 
the  delicacy  with  which  he  approached  the  subject. 

"  For  myself,  Madeline,"  and  he  spoke  in  lower  tones, 
*"you  were  always  the  same  noble,  frank,  and  generous 
friend  ;  but  you  will  allow  me  also  the  privilege  of  a  friend ; 
you  know  I  have  always  laid  a  gentle  rein  upon  your  neck, 
Madeline ;  and  you  formerly  yielded  to  the  friendly  check ; 
may  I  still  do  the  same  ?" 

"  Say  all  that  you  think,  Roland,  fully,  freely,  as  you  used 
to  do  ;  only  don't  excuse  me.'' 

"I  wish  that  you  would  learn  to  restrain  those  open  ex 
pressions  of  your  feelings ;  they  make  you  enemies,  and  they 
are  not  in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel." 

"  I  know  it,  Roland ;  I  ani  so  glad  that  you  do  not  praise 
me ;  I  should  not  respect  you  if  you  did  ;  but  how  am  I  to 


376  WOODCLIFF. 

become  meek  and  lowly?  I,  passionate!  proud!  wilful 
Madeline?  I  want  to  be  humble,  I  long  to  be  holy." 

Roland  took  the  little  hand  gently,  kindly,  as  of  old,  and 
held  it  between  his  own ;  bending  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground,  he  repeated,  "  '  Come,  learn  of  me,  for  I  am  meek 
and  lowly  in  heart,  and  you  shall  find  rest  unto  your 
soul.' " 

"  How,  Roland,  can  I  learn  of  Jesus  ?" 

"  Sit  at  his  feet  every  day,  Madeline ;  study  his  holy 
character,  pray  for  his  blessed  spirit ;  you  have  trusted  him 
with  the  justification  of  the  immortal  soul ;  trust  him  also 
in  the  work  of  sanctification ;  he  is  the  author  of  both ;  of 
the  former  by  himself;  of  the  latter  by  his  spirit." 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  wept. 

"  O,  Roland  !  sometimes  I  fear  that  I  am  not  among  the 
justified  ones;  if  I  were,  would  not  the  fruits  be  more 
manifest?" 

"  Have  you  any  hope  of  Heaven  apart  from  Jesus,  Ma 
deline?" 

"  No,  Roland,  '  Jesus  only,' "  and  this  she  said  with 
deepest  feeling. 

"  That  is  faith,  Madeline,  and  it  is  faith  that  justifies ; 
this  faith  works  godly  sorrow  for  sin,  earnest  longing  for 
holiness,  deep  humiliation;  do  you  not  experience  these  ?"  ' 

Madeline  looked  up  through  her  tears  with  such  a  smile 
of  hope — 

"  Yes,  Roland,  ever  since  yesterday  I  have  been  in  the 
dust,  repenting  of  my  sin,  and  longing,  praying  for  holiness  ; 
and  then  I  am  so  sorry  for  Harry  Castleton ;  I  wounded 
him  so  deeply,  I  behaved  so  shamefully  " 

Roland  looked  upon  the  weeping  girl,  almost  with  the 
feelings  of  a  parent  towards  a  child ;  there  certainly  was 
compassionate  tenderness  in  his  face,  and  lowly  reverence 
in  that  of  Madeline,  as  he  laid  his  hand  in  blessing  upon 
the  drooping  head. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  Harry's  pardon,  Roland ;  I  cannot 


HEARTS'  EASE.  3ft 

be  happy  until  I  do ;  and  then,  by  God's  help,  I  will  never 
be  unkind  to  him  again  ;  he  is  not  gifted  like  some  others, 
and  it  was  mean  to  reproach  him  with  it ;  I  know  that  he 
has  always  loved  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  grateful ;  is  it  not 
strange  that  it  makes  me  so  angry,  when  it  is  not  so 
with  some  others — I  wonder  why  it  is,  Roland?''  and  the 
artless  look  with  which  she  uttered  these  innocent  words, 
caused  a  smile  to  pass  over  his  face,  for  she  was  a  child  in 
some  things  yet. 

"Is  not  this  pleasant  talk?  just  like  'Auld  Lang  Syne,' 
Roland,  when  you  used  to  lecture  little  Mad-cap,  and  when 
she  used  to  like  the  lectures  so  much  better  than  other 
people's  praises." 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  pleasant,  Madeline ;  I  wonder  if  you  have 
cherished  the  mementoes  of  those  childish  days  as  I  have  ? 
do  you  know  this  handkerchief,  Madeline  ?"  and  Roland 
took  out  of  his  pocket  a  soiled  cambric  handkerchief,  stained 
with  blood. 

She  looked  at  him  with  great  surprise. 

"Why,  where  did  you  get  that  dirty  handkerchief?" 

"Don't  you  remember  the  first  day  that  we  met  upon  the 
shore,  that  you  wiped  my  face  with  your  handkerchief?  I 
have  kept  it  ever  since,  and  would  never  have  it  washed ; 
to-day  I  was  looking  among  some  old  relics,  and  put  it  in 
my  pocket,  intending  to  place  it  again  among  my  trea 
sures." 

Madeline  blushed  as  she  looked  at  the  handkerchief,  and 
smiling,  she  said, 

"  They  were  very  happy  days ;  what  a  merry  child  I 
was !  so  spoiled !  so  wilful !  I  wonder  if  I  am  any  better 
now." 

"  You  were  a  very  charming  child,  Madeline,  and  I  never 
can  forget  the  little  friend  of  the  sea-shore.  Here  is  another 
relic  I"  and  he  held  up  a  lock  of  golden  hair,  which  she  had 
given  him  in  those  childish  days. 

"  Were  we  not  very  happy,  Roland?  now  I  am  so  much 
32* 


378  WOODCLIFF. 

older — we  have  both  seen  sorrow,  you  the  most;  and  I  too 
have  tasted  of  the  cup — and  now  it  is  so  solemn  to  live, 
Roland,  to  have  the  charge  of  so  much  property,  and  to  be 
responsible  as  a  steward  for  all  that  God  has  given  to  me. 
Papa  told  me  that  I  might  choose  my  own  guardian  ;  I  have 
no  male  relations,  and  no  one  but  you  —  will  you  not  take 
charge  of  my  estate,  Roland?" 

"  It  is  a  great  responsibility,  but  I  cannot  well  decline 
it;  I  shall  be  but  too  happy  if  I  can  serve  you." 

"  I  want  some  one  to  teach  me  how  to  take  care  of  it, 
and  how  to  use  it  for  the  good  of  my  fellow-creatures.  I 

saw  such  a  beautiful  example  in  the  Countess  of  N 

and  her  noble  husband  ;  they  seemed  just  to  live  to  do  good 
to  their  own  family,  and  the  people  all  around  them.  I 
have  commenced  my  little  school  again,  and  it  is  growing 
fast ;  I  shall  soon  want  a  teacher ;  then  I  must  have  a 
reading-room  for  the  factory-men,  a  missionary  for  the 
neighborhood,  and,  after  a  while,  a  dear  little  church  of  my 
own." 

Roland  listened  to  the  young  enthusiast  with  a  glowing 
heart,  for  she  was  running  on  with  a  smiling  face,  and  such 
an  earnest,  happy  expression. 

The  tears  were  gone  —  April  had  passed,  and  smiling 
May  fanned  its  breezes  around  the  two,  as  they  sat  under 
those  shady  trees. 

She  was  playing  with  a  sprig  of  hearts'-ease  while  she 
was  talking. 

"  What  a  sweet  flower  you  have,  Madeline !" 

"Yes,  it  is  one  of  my  favorites;  I  have  so  many  at 
Woodcliff." 

"  Won't  you  give  it  to  me,  Madeline  ?" 

"  What!  my  hearts'-ease,  Roland!  There,  take  it;  I  wish 
it  were  not  so  faded." 

Placing  it  in  a  button-hole  of  his  coat,  he  smiled  as  he  said, 

"  That  is  an  emblem  of  yourself,  Madeline,  or  what  you 
used  to  be — my  own  little  hearts'-ease." 


HEARTS'  EASE.  379 

"  Well,  truly  !  Roland  Bruce  paying  compliments !  Take 
care,  good  sir;  don't  become  a  flatterer." 

"  I  speak  truth,  Madeline ;  but  let  us  talk  a  little  more 
about  this  trust  that  you  wish  me  to  undertake — are  you 
very  careful  about  your  accounts,  Madeline?  you  should 
make  a  regular  entry  of  every  day's  expenditure,  calculate 
your  income,  put  apart  so  much  for  your  charities,  and  so 
much  for  your  daily  wants — but  never  run  into  debt." 

Madeline  began  to  smile. 

"  Well,  good  sir !  it  seems  so  funny  for  little  Mad-cap  to 
be  sitting  here  listening  to  a  lecture  from  her  guardian, 
little  Roland  of  the  Maple  Lane  School  —  you  are  getting 
on  pretty  fast,  I  think,  and  it  will  not  be  long  before  we 
hear  that  eloquent  speech  that  I  have  so  often  talked 
about." 

Roland  was  suddenly  depressed;  for  when  he  looked 
upon  the  young  heiress  of  so  large  an  estate,  and  himself, 
her  guardian,  he  felt  more  than  ever  repelled  from  thoughts 
that  would  sometimes  rise  up  in  his  heart  with  visions  of 
domestic  bliss. 

There  was  so  much  of  artless,  tender  interest  in  Made 
line's  manners,  that  often  the  thought  would- cause  a  thrill 
of  rapture  as  hope  whispered,  "  She  loves  me,  this  peerless 
child  of  Nature !  this  fresh,  guileless  young  heart !  But 
it  cannot  be  — be  silent,  foolish  heart!  But  it  is  a  joy  to 
guide,  to  counsel,  to  comfort,  even  to  hear  her  voice,"  and 
gradually  he  sank  into  silence. 

Madeline's  spirits  were  gay  —  taking  Roland's  arm,  they 
walked  home  quietly  together. 

It  had  been  a  happy  hour !  But  Roland  awoke  as  from 
a  dream,  when  Madeline  named  her  property ;  with  that, 
came  the  incubus  that  always  lay  as  a  shadow  between 
him  and  his  darling's  warm  young  heart.  Chilled  by  its  icy 
breath,  he  remained  quiet. 

"  Why  are  you  so  silent,  my  good  sir?1'  inquired  Made- 


380  WOODOLIFF. 

line ;  "  it  seems  that  you  have  left  all  your  spirits  at  the 
Battery." 

"  I  was  looking  some  very  painful  thoughts  right  in  the 
face,  Madeline ;  there  are  some  things  that  I  must  get 
accustomed  to,  but  it  is  not  an  easy  task." 

"  Can  I  help  you,  Roland  ?"  and  she  turned  a  kindly  look 
upon  his  troubled  face. 

"  Ton,  help  me,  Madeline !  No — it  is  beyond  your  power," 
and  he  looked  deeply  pained. 

"  There  is  nothing,  Roland,  that  I  would  not  do,  to  lighten 
your  cares,  if  I  only  knew  what  they  were." 

"  Never  mind,  my  good  little  friend,  there  is  a  refuge  for 
every  care ;  I  have  tried  it  very  often,  and  it  has  never 
failed — no,  not  once." 

By  this  time,  they  had  reached  the  door  of  Madeline's 
stopping-place. 

"  Good  evening,  Madeline,  God  bless  you !" 

"I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,  Roland  —  shall  I  not?  I  will 
then  tell  you  all  about  Harry.'' 

"  Yes,  I  will  see  you," — and  Roland  turned  away  to  kiss 
the  sweet  little  bunch  of  hearts'-ease,  murmuring,  "  not  for 
me !  would  that  she  were  penniless ;"  while  Madeline  went 
up-stairs,  humming  a  low,  soft  tune,  as  she  whispered, 
"  What  a  dear,  kind  guardian  !''  Would  she  have  echoed 
Roland's  wish,  had  she  known  this  to  be  the  only  barrier 
between  two  pure  young,  loving  hearts  ? 

True  to  her  sense  of  right,  she  sent  a  short  note  without 
delay  to  Harry  Castleton,  requesting  the  favor  of  an  early 
call  next  morning. 

Harry  loved  Madeline  as  much  as  his  weak  nature  would 
allow  him  to  love  any  one  beside  himself,  and  had  borne 
much  contempt  from  her  even  meekly;  therefore,  he  obeyed 
the  summons,  wondering  what  change  had  come  over  his 
proud  cousin. 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Harry,  to  apologize  for  my  conduct ;  I  am 
heartily  ashamed  of  it  —  it  was  unwomanly,  unchristian, 


HEARTS'  EASE.  381 

and  uncalled  for.  I  hope,  Cousin  Harry,  that  you  will  for 
give  me  ;  you  know  what  a  proud,  high  temper  I  have,  and 
must  attribute  all  that  I  said  to  that  infirmity." 

Harry  looked  amazed  —  he  had  never  before  seen  Made 
line  so  humble  herself  to  any  body,  and  he  wondered  what 
it  really  could  mean. 

"  I  was  to  blame  too,  Madeline ;  I  know  how  my  speeches 
provoke  you,  and  I  believe  that  I  uttered  them  for  that 
very  purpose.  I  receive  your  apology  freely,  I  hope  that 
you  will  accept  mine.  I  cannot  help  my  feelings  about 
Roland  Bruce,  for  I  do  believe  that  it  is  he  only  that  pre 
vents  your  return  of  my  warm  affection." 

Madeline  bit  her  lip,  for  hasty  words  were  coming  again, 
but  she  restrained  them,  and  replied, 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Harry,  I  feel  for  you  the  interest 
of  a  cousin  ;  nothing  else  could  possibly  be  entertained  ; 
but  you  will  never  have  to  complain  again  of  unkind  con 
duct  at  my  hands ;  I  have  been  too  deeply  humbled.  I  do 
wish  you  well,  cousin  Harry  ;  I  would  like  to  see  you 
caring  more  for  better  things ;  then  at  least,  you  would 
have  my  respect."  . 

"j^Iadeline,  if  you  had  always  been  thus  kind,  I  might 
have  been  a  better  man  ;  your  scorn  has  embittered  me ; 
but  words  like  these  soften  my  heart,  and  waken  better 
feelings,  even  in  vain  and  trifling  Harry  Castleton." 

They  spent  an  hour  in  friendly  conversation,  and  Made 
line  was  greatly  relieved,  when  she  parted  amicably  from 
her  cousin. 

A  familiar  step  soon  followed  upon  Harry's  departure, 
and  Madeline,  with  her  own  mischievous  smile,  said, — 

"  Now,  Roland,  have  I  not  been  a  good  girl  ?  I  made  an 
humble  apology  to  Harry,  for  all  my  naughty  ways,  and  I 
think  that  my  venerable  guardian  must  be  satisfied  with  his 
protege.'' 

Roland  smiled,  and  answered, 

"  Follow  out  your  own  convictions  of  right  at  once,  Ma- 


382  WOODCLIFF. 

deline,  as  you  have  done  in  this  case,  and  you  will  not  go 
very  far  astray." 

I  would  have  done  the  same  willingly  before  all  that 
room  full,  Roland,  that  they  might  have  known  how  heartily 
ashamed  I  was  ?" 

Roland  looked  upon  this  fascinating  combination  of  inno 
cent,  frank  child-nature  with  true  earnest  womanhood,  and 
felt  convinced  that  the  world  would  never  spoil  this  fresh 
young  soul. 

"  You  look  very  sad,  to-day,  good  sir ;  has  any  thing  hap 
pened  to  distress  you?" 

"  Nothing  now,  Madeline ;  I  have  only  had  to  tame  down 
some  wild,  ungoverned  fancies.'' 

"  Here  are  some  of  my  papers  ready  for  my  sage  guar 
dian  ;  when  I  get  home,  I  will  send  the  rest." 

Roland  winced  again ;  for  this  bundle  of  parchment  re 
minded  him  of  the  night's  sore  struggle — he  could  not  now 
see  Madeline  with  the  mere  regard  of  a  true  friend,  for  the 
silent  hours  of  midnight  communion  had  fully  revealed  the 
state  of  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXYIII 

SEAWEED. 

THE  witcheries  of  the  world  were  rapidly  losing  their 
power  over  Madeline  Hamilton — but  Nature,  calm,  beauti 
ful,  bright,  became  more  dear,  more  elevating  to  her  child 
— for  had  she  not  always  been  her  nursing-mother  even 
from  earliest  childish  days  ? 

There  was  perfect  harmony  between  the  fresh  guileless 
nature  and  the  green  trees,  the  smiling  sky,  the  deep  blue 
ocean,  and  the  sweet  voices  among  which  she  rambled ; 
and  deeper,  fuller  than  ever  was  the  joy  swelling  in  her 
young  heart,  when  she  could  look  upward  and  say,  "  My 
Father  made  them  all." 

From  the  deep  fountains  of  her  new  nature  gushed  out 
streams  of  love,  for  all  that  God  had  made ;  for  the  more 
that  she  loved  God,  the  truer,  and  more  spiritual  be 
came  her  love  for  her  fellow-men.  Then  the  intimate  rela 
tions  between  herself  and  Roland,  the  dear  companionship, 
the  old  feelings  of  perfect  trust  and  reverence,  and  the 
tender  interest  which  enveloped  her  in  such  a  mantle  of 
protection,  dwelt  with  her  daily ;  and  neither  needed  words 
to  tell  how  truly  they  were  one,  nor  with  what  unconscious, 
mysterious  knowledge,  they  had  read  each  other's  hearts. 
Roland  could  not  but  feel  "  she  loves  me,"  and  Madeline 
needed  no  language  to  make  her  understand  how  precious 
was  the  sacred  bond  which  united  their  warm  young 
hearts. 

The  little  children  that  assembled  around  her  still  in  her 
Saturday-school,  and  her  class  on  Sunday,  all  felt  the  sweet 

(383) 


384  WOODCLIFP. 

attraction — the  dwellers  at  the  cottages,  Aunt  Matilda,  and 
the  people  in  the  kitchen,  all  realized  that  a  warmer  glow 
of  love  kindled  in  the  young  face,  and  sweeter  words  were 
breathed  from  her  lips. 

Madeline  was  really  living — for  the  heart  had  found  objects 
on  which  to  bestow  its  benevolence,  and  the  feeling,  day  by 
day,  was  deepening,  widening,  as  she  felt  truly  "  Jesus  loves 
me,  and  I  love  him." 

As  the  guardian  of  her  worldly  concerns,  she  received 
frequent  letters  from  Roland,  full  of  kind  advice  and 
strengthening  words.  He  had  laid  down  for  her  a  plan 
which  she  was  eager  to  carry  out,  and  it  was  a  pretty  pic 
ture  to  see  the  young  girl  with  her  little  basket  of  books, 
tracts,  and  domestic  comforts,  sallying  forth  daily  among 
her  humble  dependents.  Hours  for  devotion,  household 
cares,  for  reading,  music,  for  exercise,  for  benevolence,  were 
systematically  arranged,  and  as  carefully  carried  out;  and 
while  Aunt  Matilda  was  yawning  over  want  of  occupation, 
and  imagining  headaches,  indigestion,  and  countless  other 
evils,  Madeline  scarcely  found'  time  for  her  numerous 
duties.  She  was  very  happy ;  for  even  while  she  missed 
the  smile  of  her  dear  father's  approval,  was  she  not  blessed 
with  the  assurance  of  his  unspeakable  gain  ?  and  did  she 
not  hope  to  join  him  at  last  in  the  better  world,  to  part  no 
more  forever? 

Her  cheek  bloomed  with  brighter  tints,  her  eye  beamed 
with  holier  love,  and  her  lips  told  tales  of  sweet  inward 
peace  and  joy,  drawn  from  the  deep  wells  of  salvation.  She 
was  learning  some  of  Mozart's  and  Beethoven's  finest 
music  on  her  harp,  and  some  sacred  melodies  for  her  voice  ; 
for  she  knew  the  style  that  pleased  Roland,  and  was 
scarcely  aware  how  all  her  occupations  were  mingled  with 
the  name  of  that  precious  friend.  Sometimes,  doubts  and 
difficulties  would  obtrude  themselves  when  reading  the 
Scriptures,  and  then  she  would  wish  for  her  faithful  guide. 

"  Get  Mr.  Bruce's  room  ready,  Mary,"  said  Madeline  to 


SEAWEED.  385 

the  chambermaid  ;  "  he  will  here  to-morrow,"  and  she  spent 
much  of  her  time  in  preparations  for  the  welcome  visitor. 

Aunt  Matilda  found  that  although  her  niece  treated  her 
with  respect  and  affection,  in  the  choice  of  her  guardian 
she  had  exercised  the  liberty  which  her  father  had  given 
her,  and  the  good  lady  had  quietly  to  submit.  The  respect 
ful  reverence  with  which  Roland  treated  Madeline's  aunt 
almost  disarmed  her  opposition  to  this  intimacy,  and  would 
have  done  so  entirely,  could  she  have  divested  herself  of 
the  fear  that  Roland  might  some  day  be  more  than  guar 
dian.  After  tea,  Madeline  led  Roland  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  I  have  learned  some  new  music  just  for  you,  guardian," 
and  she  played  some  of  her  finest  pieces  with  exquisite 
taste  and  execution. 

"  How  can  people  like  polkas  and  waltzes  after  such 
music  as  this?"  said  Roland;  "it  seems  to  speak  so  truly 
the  language  of  the  soul." 

"  I  have  some  beautiful  sacred  melodies,  and  I  want  you 
to  learn  them  to  sing  with  me,  guardian,  your  voice  is  so 
good." 

It  was  amusing  to  see  Madeline  assume  the  office  of 
teacher,  and  when  he  would  make  mistakes,  with  an  arch 
expi'ession  around  her  mouth,  to  hear  her  say — 

"  What  a  dumb  scholar  !  don't  you  see  that  you  are  sing 
ing  the  wrong  note  ?  I  am  so  glad  that  there  is  something 
I  can  do  better  than  you." 

It  was  a  laughing  lesson,  with  Roland's  blunders,  and 
Madeline's  pretended  reproofs,  and  the  pat  of  the  little 
hand  on  his  head  when  he  succeeded. 

"  Don't  be  affronted,  guardian,  for  I  really  do  entertain 
a  profound  respect  for  you,  though  not  much  wholesome 
fear;  that  is  rather  out  of  my  sphere,  good  sir." 

After    sundry   trials,    they   succeeded    admirably,    and 
Madeline's  sweet  treble,  with  Roland's  rich  tenor  voice, 
made  truly  delightful  music. 
33 


386  WOODCLIFF. 

"That's  a  good  boy,  Roland!  you  shall  have  a  treat  for 
your  performance,"  and  Madeline  ordered  a  t€te-a-tete 
supper  before  retiring,  with  just  such  viands  as  Roland 
liked. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  in  the  library,  Madeline  ?" 
was  Roland's  request,  as  he  bade  "good-night." 

"  Yes,  at  nine  o'clock ;  I  shall  be  occupied  until  that 
time." 

A  full  hour  was  spent  in  transacting  some  business 
attendant  upon  his  office,  and,  at  the  close,  Madeline,  with 
a  sweet,  serious  face,  seated  herself  on  a  lower  seat  by  the 
side  of  her  guardian. 

"I  have  wanted  you  lately,  Roland,  I  have  been  so 
troubled  when  reading  the  Scriptures ;  I  don't  know  what 
can  be  the  matter,  but  my  mind  has  been  so  disturbed  by 
doubts  and  difficulties,  that  they  have  clouded  my  peace, 
and  perplexed  me  so  much." 

"Are  they  connected  with  your  duties,  Madeline?" 

"  No,  Roland ;  they  are  about  deep,  inscrutable  myste 
ries  that  I  cannot  understand,"  and  Madeline,  from  a  full 
heart,  poured  out  all  her  tale  of  doubts  and  trials  into  the 
ears  of  one  ever  ready  and  able  to  counsel  and  aid  her 
trembling  steps. 

On  Sunday  morning,  Roland  accompanied  Madeline, 
opened  the  services  of  the  Sunday-school,  and  aided  in 
teaching ;  in  the  afternoon,  by  the  side  of  his  young  friend, 
and  using  the  same  book,  he  joined  in  the  beautiful  service 
which  she  loved,  for  he  had  outlived  the  prejudices  of  his 
childhood,  and  had  learned  to  love  goodness  and  truth 
wherever  he  saw  it,  or  under  whatever  garb,  and  could  now 
easily  make  allowances  for  the  deep  aversion  of  those  days 
of  persecution  to  the  rigid  ritualism  which  laid  such  heavy 
burdens  upon  the  consciences  of  Christian  men. 

While  he  remained  at  WoodclifF,  one  hour  each  morning 
was  spent  in  studying  the  word  of  God,  and  his  clear  ex 
planations  greatly  aided  the  young  believer. 


SEAWEED.  387 

"  This  is  a  pleasant  evening,  Madeline ;  shall  we  walk 
down  to  the  shore?  I  must  see  the  dear  spot  before  I 
return  to  New  York." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Roland,  I  must  get  my  hood  and  scarf; 
it  is  a  little  damp.  Old  Peter  will  be  glad  to  see  us,  and 
I  have  something  for  him." 

"  So  have  I,"  answered  Roland.  "  He  must  be  growing 
very  old,  for  he  was  an  aged  man  when  we  first  came  to 
Woodcliff,  and  that  is  seventeen  years  ago;  I  am  now 
twenty-six." 

"  And  I  twenty-one ;  and  yet,  Roland,  I  do  not  feel 
more  than  sixteen;  I  enjoy  life  as  much  as  then,  and  I  have 
just  the  same  faith  in  goodness  as  I  had  at  that  age." 

They  soon  found  themselves  at  the  dear  trysting  place, 
and,  seated  on  the  rock,  they  gazed  in  silence  upon  the 
grand  old  ocean.  Madeline  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Does  it  seem  possible,  Roland,  that  eleven  years  have 
passed  since  you  stood  there,"  pointing  to  a  spot  near 
them,  "  defending  the  poor  little  things  who  had  lost  their 
diamonds?" 

"  And  yet,  Madeline,  if  we  measure  time  by  events, 
what  a  long  life  mine  would  seem !  So  full  of  trial,  of 
blessing,  and  of  stirring  incident !  What  finger-posts  of 
Providence  have  marked  my  way!'' 

"  How  strange  are  its  wondrous  dealings,  Roland !  I 
ran  down  to  the  shore  that  evening  with  my  dog  Hector, 
just  for  a  merry  race  and  a  wild  romp  with  my  good  old 
playmate,  and  I  found  you  —  then  a  poor,  threadbare  boy, 
with  a  grand  and  noble  soul — be  still,  Roland"  (for  he  was 
about  to  speak),  "  I  felt  what  was  hidden  under  your 
worn-out  jacket,  child  that  I  was ;  and  I  found  such  a 
friend !  eternity  only  will  reveal  what  you  have  been  to 
wild,  impulsive  Madeline;"  turning,  with  her  young  face 
all  glowing,  she  added,  "  I  fought  your  battles  then,  Roland, 
and  I  have  done  so  ever  since,  for  my  childish  instincts 
read  truly." 


388  WOODCLIFF. 

"  There  are  some  scenes,  Madeline,  written  upon  the 
tablets  of  memory  with  a  diamond  pen,  and  that  afternoon 
was  one ;  the  face  of  the-  bright  child,  with  her  generous 
impulses  and  her  scorn  of  meanness,  the  stained  handker 
chief,  and  the  tender  touch  of  the  dimpled  hand  have  been 
with  me  ever  since ;  to  this  have  been  added  the  bright, 
wild,  untamed  intellect  that  interested  me  in  Maple  Lane 
School,  the  docile  pupil  coming  to  me  with  such  winning 
grace.  I  see  the  folded  hands  and  downcast  eyes  even 
now ;  the  mischievous  little  sprite  that  loved  bewitching 
pranks ;  the  gay  young  girl  who,  amid  all  the  blandish 
ments  of  wealth,  still  nobly  cheering  my  way ;  the  riper 
woman,  with  her  noble  heart,  at  last  bowing  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross,  and  pouring  out  its  love  on  all  around  her. 
These,  Madeline,  have  been  with  me  always  —  cheering, 
blessing,  soothing.'' 

"  All  this,  Roland,  under  the  leading  hand  of  a  wondrous 
Providence,  you  have  done  ;  sometimes  I  was  led  away, 
but  for  what  a  short  period !  These  early  lessons  are  never 
forgotten ;  and  even  in  E?hgland,  where  I  was  surrounded 
by  so  much  more  to  tempt,  my  heart,  true  as  the  needle  to 
the  pole,  turned  back  with  all  its  freshness  to  those  early 
memories  and  their  teachings." 

Roland  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  his  heart  filled  with 
unutterable  love  —  could  it  be  duty  to  throw  from  him  this 
gem  of  priceless  worth,  this  young,  warm,  guileless  woman's 
heart  ?  and  yet  as  a  flash  darted  through  his  brain,  the 
thought  that  would  obtrude  —  as  her  guardian,  acquainted 
with  the  extent  of  her  possessions,  might  he  not  be  thought 
selfish,  mercenary  ? 

"And  now  you  see,  good  sir,  you  are  my  grave  and 
reverend  guardian,  and  must  know  all  about  your  ward," 
and  Madeline  flashed  upon  him  one  of  her  arch  glances  of 
mischief;  "  if  a  young  lady  has  offers  of  marriage,  1  sup 
pose  that  she  ought  to  tell  her  guardian  —  is  not  that  so  ?" 
and  she  continued,  smiling,  "  and  always  ask  his  advice 


SEAWEED.  389 

about  such  matters,  for  I  have  something  of  the  kind  to 
tell  now." 

Roland  dropped  his  eyes,  and  moved  away  from  the 
young  lady,  lest  she  should  see  his  emotion,  and  replied 
seriously,  "I  shall  always  be  interested  in  whatever  con 
cerns  you,  Madeline,  and  will  advise  here,  as  elsewhere, 
truly,  faithfully." 

"  Well !  to  begin — Harry  Castleton  is  one  of  my  devoted 
— he  has  offered  himself  three  times,  and  has  as  often  been 
refused ;  for  you  know,  guardian,  that  I  could  never  love 
him,  but  I  am  going  to  treat  him  better;  I  have  made  a 
good  beginning ;  what  do  you  think  of  him  for  Madeline  ?" 

"  Think,  Madeline  !  I  should  never  cease  to  mourn  over 
such  a  union — it  could  never  be." 

"Amen!"  said  Madeline,  archly;  "and  then  there  was 
Mr.  Livingston,  of  New  York,  that  all  the  belles  were 
dying  for ;  a  man  of  wealth,  rank,  fashion,  and  intelligence ; 
not  caring  much  for  the  gay  world  —  what  do  you  think  of 
him  ?" 

"  Did  you  love  him,  Madeline  ?" 

"  No  —  not  exactly ;  and  I  used  to  think  it  was  very 
strange  !  he  was  so  handsome  and  attractive  !  but  what  do 
you  say  about  him  ?" 

"  I  could  not  approve  of  him  either." 

"  Why,  guardian !  you  are  grim,  and  hard  to  please  — 
well !  then  there  was  Tony  Willikins ;  poor  Tony !  when  I 
was  a  wild  young  thing,  I  took  a  ride  with  Tony,  and  he 
asked  me  about  his  future  establishment ;  about  his  house, 
his  carriage,  his  grounds,  his  furniture ;  and  I  gave  my 
opinion  —  well,  to  be  sure !  he  built  just  such  a  house, 
ordered  just  such  a  carriage,  and  then  came,  and  asked  me 
to  live  in  his  house,  and  ride  in  his  carriage.  I  almost 
laughed  in  his  face  ;  and  when  I  refused,  he  said  that  I  had 
encouraged  him,  because  I  described  the  house,  and  recom 
mended  the  carriage ;  I  did  not  think  that  he  was  quite 
such  a  dunce,  but  I  really  felt  sorry  for  Tony ;  I  did  not 
33* 


390  WOODCLIFF. 

mean  any  harm  —  now,  guardian,  what  do  you  think  of 
Tony  Willikins  ?" 

Roland  smiled  at  the  story,  and  replied, 
"  I  should  object  no  more  to  this  poor  fellow  with  weak 
intellect,  and  affectionate  heart,  than  I  would  to  a  rich 
brainless  fop,  without  a  heart." 

"  When  I  went  to  England,"  and  Madeline's  face  as 
sumed  a  more  serious,  tender  expression,  "  I  was  introduced 

to  the  family  of  the  Earl  of  N ;  it  was  all  that  a 

Christian  family  ought  to  be,  and  there  I  spent  some  of  the 
happiest  hours  of  my  life.  I  was  domesticated  in  that 
household  for  many  weeks,  and  became  much  attached  to 

Lady  Alice,  the  eldest  daughter.     Lord  N ,  the  eldest 

son,  was  a  bright  example  of  a  young  English  noble ;  re 
fined,  intelligent,  pious,  and  of  an  extremely  prepossessing 
appearance ;  we  were  associated  daily ;  Roland,  he  learned 
to  love  me  with  all  the  depth  and  tenderness  of  a  true, 
manly  nature.  I  never  knew  an  hour  of  deeper  sorrow, 
than  when  compelled  to  say  to  that  outburst  of  a  warm 
affection,  '  only  friendship  can  I  return ;'  now,  guardian, 
what  would  you  think  of  him  ?" 

They  were  sitting  very  near  the  edge  of  the  shore,  and 
as  the  waves  washed  up  the  sea-weed,  Roland  took  up  a 
bunch,  and  handing  it  to  Madeline,  said, 

"  You  remember  these  flowers  of  the  ocean  —  how  often 
have  I  gathered  them  for  you  ?" 

"  Remember  them  1"  and  Madeline  opened  a  small  pocket- 
book,  from  which  she  took  a  few  faded  weeds,  "  Ah  1  how 
often  have  these  memorials  spoken  to  me,  Roland  ;  once  I 
placed  them  by  the  side  of  the  splendid  bouquet,  that  Lord 
N used  to  send  me  daily — and  oh  !  the  difference." 

"  0,  Madeline !  dare  I  hope  that  the  giver  of  these  faded 

weeds  was  dearer  than  Lord  N ,  with  all  his  grandeur 

and  his  goodness  ?" 

Madeline  turned  her  deep  expressive  eyes  upon  R  Jand's 
face,  as  she  replied,  in  trembling  tones, 


SEAWEED.  391 

"  Nothing  else  could  have  made  me  insensible  to  tho 
worth  of  Lord  Alfred  N ;  these  faded  weeds,  the  sea- 
shells,  the  sketch  I  found  once  in  the  library,  were  more  pre 
cious  to  me,  more  fondly  cherished,  than  all  the  gifts  of  gold 
that  have  ever  been  laid  at  my  feet." 

"  Can  such  blessedness  be  mine  ?  the  wealth  of  such  a 
heart?" 

"  And  mine,  dear  Roland !  it  seems  too  much  of  earthly 
good  to  know  that  you  are  all  my  own,  not  only  as  my 
friend,  but  my  dearest,  truest  love." 

"And  can  you,  with  all  your  wealth  and  attractions, 
turn  from  so  much,  and  give  your  heart  to  me?  I  have 
not  much  to  offer,  Madeline ;  it  is  true  that  my  dear  friend, 
Uncle  Malcolm,  placed  me  above  the  reach  of  need,  but 
nothing  compared  to  the  heiress  of  Woodcliff;  I  fear  the 
judgment  of  your  aunt ;  would  that  you  were  penniless." 

"  I  want  nothing  but  yourself,  Eoland ;  only  your  pure 
and  noble  self;  have  we  not  loved  each  other  always? 
and  yet  there  was  a  time  when  I  was  afraid  of  Helen 
Thornly." 

"  And  when  I  was  afraid  of  Lord  N ;  for  I  saw  his 

worth,  and  his  attractions,  Madeline ;  and  knew  that  you 
were  with  him  daily  while  I  was  absent." 

"  What  would  your  father  think  of  such  a  choice,  Made 
line  ?" 

"  He  was  willing,  in  such  a  matter,  to  trust  his  daugh 
ter;  dear,  noble  father!  he  respected  you,  Roland,  always  ; 
and  I  believe,  if  he  were  living,  he  would  smile  upon  us.'' 

"Look  at  me,  darling!"  said  Roland,  "let  me  see  those 
dear  eyes,  those  truthful,  earnest  eyes,  just  turned  on  me, 
as  full  of  love  and  tenderness  as  in  days  gone  by;  (for 
Madeline  had  dropped  her  head,  and  bent  her  eyes  upon 
the  ground.) 

She  raised  them  to  Roland's  face,  and  in  the  deep  look 
of  perfect  trust  and  tenderness,  he  saw  what  that  hour  had 
revealed  to  him.  Taking  both  hands  within  his  own,  and 


392  WOODCLIFF. 

looking  up  to  heaven,  he  prayed  that  God  would  bless  this 
sweet  union  of  two  young  souls  that  had  been  so  long  as 
one. 

"  This  is  a  love,  Madeline,  which  will  stretch  forward  to 
eternity ;  it  will  be  companionship  on  earth  in  all  that  is 
pure  and  holy,  to  be  perfected  in  the  world  above." 

One  sweet,  pure  caress,  one  fond  kiss  sealed  this  heart 
union;  and  taking  her  arm  within  his  own,  they  turned 
their  steps  homeward. 

"  Let  us  just  listen  for  one  moment  to  the  music  of  the 
ocean,  Roland ;  it  is  a  grand  old  organ,  with  its  deep,  mys 
terious  chords  ;  it  has  murmured  many  solemn  hymns  for 
us,  many  a  varied  melody  —  sometimes  gentle  summer  lul 
labies,  sometimes  wails  like  funeral  dirges  —  what  does  it 
waft  us  to-night?" 

"Nothing  but  soft,  sweet  hymns  of  harmony,  Maddy; 
bidding  us  praise  our  Father  and  our  God." 

Old  Peter  had  been  watching  the  young  people,  in 
whom  he  was  so  much  interested ;  he  saw  the  deep-ab 
sorbing  interest  of  that  interview ;  the  tender  caress,  and 
the  slow  step  as  they  moved  away,  and  he  said  to  him 
self, 

"  This  is  just  what  I  thought  would  come  of  boarding  up 
old  shoes.  God  bless  them!  they  are  a  dear  young  pair, 
and  deserve  to  be  happy.  What  a  handsome  couple  they 
will  make !  And  they  are  both  so  good  !  It  puts  me  in 
mind  of  Becky  and  me  in  our  young  days,"  and  the  old 
man  wiped  a  moistened  eye  with  his  rough  coat-sleeve. 

Tea  was  long  over  when  they  reached  home,  but  they 
wanted  no  supper ;  and  Aunt  Matilda  was  out  of  patience 
at  the  monosyllables  which  she  received  as  answers,  for 
both  seemed  wholly  engrossed  with  each  other. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  library,''  whispered  Madeline  ;  and  as 
they  stood  before  the  portrait  of  her  father  it  seemed  to 
look  upon  them,  with  all  the  benignity  of  expression  that 
dwelt  upon  the  face  of  Mr.  Hamilton. 


BEAWEED.  393 

"  It  smiles  upon  us,  Roland !  does  it  not  ?  I  know  my 
dear  father  too  well  not  to  be  assured  that  he  would  bless 
us ;  let  us  kneel  before  his  picture ;"  and  as  they  bowed 
solemnly  in  the  library,  Roland  poured  out  his  heart  in 
earnest,  fervent  prayer,  for  God's  choicest  blessings  upon 
them  both." 

After  an  evening  spent  in  happy  converse,  the  hour  of 
separation  came  too  soon. 

"  Let  us  listen  to  the  Eolian  to-night,  Roland ;"  and  Mad 
eline  led  him  to  the  stair-case ;  standing  there  together,  it 
discoursed  soft,  sweet  strains,  for  the  evening  was  balmy 
and  pleasant,  and  the  wind  fanned  gentle  breezes  among 
the  foliage  of  Woodcliff. 

"  How  soft  1  how  sweet,  Roland,  the  harp  is  to-night !  it 
seems  to  breathe  only  of  happiness  and  peace;  sometimes 
it  has  been  so  wild,  so  sad,  when  I  have  been  in  trouble  ! 
I  wonder  if  it  does  not  just  echo  the  voice  within." 

"  Doubtless  it  is  so,  Madeline ;  to-night  the  seranade  is 
very  sweet;  if  the  fairies  play  among  the  strings,  they 
must  know  all  about  us,  dear." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  fancy,  and  cannot  harm  us,  Roland ;  I 
don't  believe  it,  you  know ;  but  then  there  are  many  things 
I  don't  believe  which  it  is  pleasant  to  think  about." 

"  You  must  be  careful,  dear,  in  these  flights  of  fancy,  that 
they  do  not  depart  from  truth." 

"  Well  then,  Roland,  we  will  banish  the  fairies,  though 
they  were  long  the  friends  of  my  childhood,  and  substitute 
the  good,  real  angels,  and  think  that  the  sweet  music  is 
mingled  with  theirs." 

"  Good-night,  Madeline,  may  they  guard  your  slumbers  ; 
and  Roland  clasped  the  little  hand  fondly,  and  impressed 
the  kiss  of  pure  affection  upon  the  fair  young  brow. 

Madeline's  dreams  were  pure  and  holy  that  night,  for 
was  she  not  the  chosen  companion  of  the  man  whom  she 
most  loved  and  honored  on  earth  ? 

Next  morning,  she  acquainted  her  aunt  with  what  had 


394  WOODCLIFP. 

taken  place.  She  was  not  surprised,  but  deeply  disap 
pointed. 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,  Madeline,  to  reject  such  a 
man  as  Lord  N ,  and  to  choose  one  so  low-born,  so  ob 
scure  as  Roland  Bruce  ;  but  you  must  have  your  own  way ; 
you  were  always  a  wilful  child!" 

"  You  will  learn  to  think  differently  some  day,  aunty ; 
when  you  know  Roland,  you  will  find  out  true  nobility." 

"  Next  Sunday  will  be  our  communion  day,  Roland ;  you 
will  stay,  can't  you  ?"  said  Madeline. 

"  I  will  try ;  by  writing  a  few  lines,  I  can  be  spared  that 
long.'' 

There  were  but  few  as  yet  gathered  into  that  little  fold ; 
but  it  was  a  blessed  hour,  when  the  two  bowed  together  at 
the  table  of  their  Master,  and  consecrated  their  united  lives 
to  his  holy  service. 

There  had  been  a  parlor  organ  hired  for  their  little  church, 
and  as  they  together  joined  in  the  high  praises  of  the  Trisa- 
gion,  their  spirits  seemed  to  soar  beyond  the  things  of  time 
and  sense,  and  to  prostrate  themselves  together  before  the 
throne  of  God  and  the  Lamb. 

"  This  is  living,"  said  Roland,  as  they  walked  homeward 
together ;  "  loving  God  supremely,  and  each  other  fondly, 
for  Jesus'  sake,  with  the  sweet  hope  of  eternal  union,  when 
the  cares  and  sorrows  of  life  are  ended ;  this  is  living,  Ma 
deline.  God  is  love,  and  is  best  pleased  when  his  creatures 
are  most  like  him." 

"  I  used  to  think,  Roland,  that  it  was  a  sin  for  mortals 
to  love  each  other,  and  it  once  troubled  me  sorely,  when  I 
began  to  think  of  becoming  a  Christian." 

"  Just  study  the  life  of  Christ,  dear,  and  the  teachings 
of  the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved  the  best,  the  loving  John  ; 
his  epistles  are  full  of  heavenly  love,  and  you  will  never 
make  that  mistake  again;  for  remember,  that  he  teaches 
the  duty  of  the  highest  exercise  of  Christian  love,  when 


SEAWEED.  395 

he  says,  '  That  we  ought  to  lay  down  oui  lives  for  the 
heathen.' '' 

"  How  that  view  draws  us  to  the  blessed  Saviour!  How 
different  from  the  teachings  of  those  who  would  represent 
God  as  seated  far  away,  upon  the  throne  of  the  Universe, 
forbidding  the  approach  of  his  erring  children." 

"Always  think  of  God,  Madeline,  as  a  loving  Father, 
whom  you  may  always  approach  to  plead  the  merits  of  his 
Son ;  he  is  ever  ready  to  look  upon  you  graciously  in  the 
face  of  Jesus,  our  Redeemer." 

"  What  precious  hopes,  dear  Roland,  does  the  gospel 
hold  out  to  us !  union  with  Christ  forever,  and  intimate 
soul-union  with  each  other  in  a  world  where  there  can  be 
no  change,  no  parting,  no  decay." 

"  Let  us  bless  him,  dearest  Madeline,  for  these  holy 
hopes,  and  show  that  we  love  him,  by  lives  devoted  to  his 
service  ;  by-the-bye,  do  you  know  that  I  begin  to  like  your 
service  better  than  our  own  ?  so  much  that  is  sublime  is 
taught  by  its  offices.  It  seems  to  be  an  echo  of  the  voice 
within.  How  lofty  is  the  language  of  the  Trisagion !  I 
could  almost  have  imagined  the  worship  of  the  spirits  be 
fore  the  throne,  crying  '  Holy  !  Holy  !  Holy !'  and  could  look 
forward  to  that  time,  when,  as  disembodied  spirits,  we  shall 
join  with  those  who  have  gone  before ;  with  patriarchs,  and 
prophets  ;  with  martyrs,  and  apostles  ;  with  •  the  spirits  of 
the  just  made  perfect ;'  with  my  mother,  Effie,  and  your 
own  dear  father,  in  praising  the  God  who  has  brought  us 
safely  home." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  feel  so,  Roland,  for  I  have  decided 
preferences  for  my  own  forms  of  worship ;  though  I  can 
hold  communion  with  Christians  of  every  name,  who  truly 
love  my  Master/' 

Monday  morning  came,  and  with  it,  return  to  daily  cares 
and  duties. 

"Madeline,  I  brought  old  Peter  a  warm  over-coat  for 


396  •  WOODCLIFF. 

winter,  one  that  I  have  done  with  ;  I  forgot  to  say  any 
thing  about  it  that  evening;"  and  Roland  smiled. 

"And  I  forgot  a  Bible  with  large  print,  and  a  pair  of  good 
spectacles;  I  had  them  with  me,  but  I  forgot  them  too." 

"  I  hope  that  we  may  be  excused  this  time,  Madeline ; 
our  hearts  were  engrossed  by  each  other.  Farewell,  dear 
est,  write  daily,"  continued  Roland,  "  or  rather  keep  a 
journal,  and  send  it  to  me  twice  a  week ;  I  want  to  know 
everything  about  you,  where  you  go  ;  all  that  you  think  and 
feel  are  precious  to  me  now." 

Madeline  blushed  rosy  red,  as  she  found  herself  folded  in 
a  warm  embrace,  and  returned  modestly  the  kiss  of  affec 
tion  which  was  pressed  upon  her  lips. 

"  Pray  for  me,  Roland,  every  day  and  every  night ;  we 
can  meet  there,  dearest ;"  and  Madeline  stood  upon  the 
piazza  watching  him  as  long  as  she  could  see  him,  and  re 
turned  the  wave  of  the  hand,  ere  she  retraced  her  steps 
back  to  the  library. 

Letters  from  Lady  Alice  had  just  reached  Woodcliff ;  for 
Madeline  had  been  in  constant  correspondence  with  her 
valued  English  friends.  They  were  particularly  welcome, 
for  in  one  was  announced  the  approaching  marriage  of  Lady 
Alice  to  Lord  Elmore,  and  several  hints  about  Lady  Lucy 
Hampton  and  her  brother  Alfred  ;  concluding  with  a  warm 
invitation  to  make  a  bridal  visit  to  England. 

On  Roland's  next  visit,  he  brought  a  warm  letter  from 
good  Uncle  Malcolm,  congratulating  him  on  his  prospects 
of  domestic  happiness,  and  insisting  on  a  visit  immediately 
after  his  marriage. 

".  I  do  not  think  it  at  all  improbable,  Madeline,  for  I  have 
business  which  calls  me  to  Scotland,"  said  the  young  man. 

Mr.  Bruce  was  expected  daily,  and  Madeline  obtained  a 
promise  that  his  first  visit  in  America  should  be  to  Wood- 
cliff. 

In  a  few  days  he  landed  at  New  York,  and  met  with  a 
warm  welcome  from  his  son. 


SEAWEED.  397 

"Are  you  really  glad  to  see  me,  Roland  ?"  asked  the 
poor  man,  as  he  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  sad,  wistful 
expression. 

"  I  am  really  glad,  my  father ;  I  have  a  carriage  ready 
for  you,  and  bright,  pleasant  rooms." 

No  pains  were  spared  to  make  him  happy,  and  under  the 
wise,  affectionate  treatment  of  his  son,  Mr.  Bruce  really 
seemed  to  be  losing  much  of  that  sad  and  moody  state  of 
mind  which  had  so  long  afflicted  him.  As  soon  as  he  could 
be  prevailed  upon  to  go,  Roland  took  him  to  Woodcliff,  and 
introduced  him  to  his  intended  daughter-in-law. 

Madeline  received  him  with  a  warm,  affectionate  wel 
come  ;  and  although  shy  at  first,  under  the  influence  of  her 
kind  manners  and  sweet  music,  he  became  daily  more 
social  and  tranquil. 

After  singing  several  hymns  to  please  him,  he  walked 
up  to  Madeline,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  head,  he 
said, — 

"  Thank  ye,  my  dear,  ye  hae  ta'en  a  deal  o'  trouble  to 
please  an  auld  mon — ye  are  to  be  my  daughter,  are  ye  na!" 
and  stooping  down,  he  pushed  back  the  rich  folds  of  hair, 
to  look  more  earnestly  on  her  sweet  young  face,  and  then 
kissed  the  pure,  calm  forehead. 

"I  will  try  to  make  you  a  good  daughter,  sir,"  and  she 
kissed  the  withered  hand  that  was  held  out  to  her.  From 
this  time,  quite  an  intimacy  sprang  up  between  the  two, 
for  the  music  had  driven  away  the  evil  spirit  for  a  time. 

"  She  is  vera  luvely,  Roland,  amaist  as  luvely  as  yer 
mither  was  at  her  age — be  kind  to  her,  my  boy ;  ne'er  sus 
pect  yer  wife  ;  but  be  sure  that  ye  hae  her  heart  —  arg  ye 
sure  o'  that,  Roland !" 

"  Yes,  father,  she  has  never  loved  any  one  else,  she  is  all 
my  own !" 

"  Happy  son !  happy  Roland !"  whispered  Stephen,  as  he 
took  his  son's  arm,  to  walk  out  on  the  piazza. 

As  Madeline  took  leave  of  the  old  man,  she  said, 
84 


398  WOODCLIFF. 

"  You  will  come  again,  dear  sir,  will  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,  this  hae  been  a  pleasant  visit ;  ye  are 
guid  an'  kind,  an'  I  luve  ye,  my  daughter." 

******* 

Aunt  Clara  is  on  a  visit  to  Woodcliff,  and  finds  her  most 
sanguine  hopes  realized  in  what  she  sees  of  Madeline's  daily 
walks  of  usefulness,  and  many  a  time,  with  tearful  eyes, 
exclaims, 

"  What  hath  God  wrought !'» 

"  Aunt  Clara,  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about 
the  men  here ;  there  is  a  very  large  number  among  the 
factories,  and  in  the  cottages  of  the  fishermen.  They  very 
seldom  come  to  our  Sunday  services,  but  waste  their  vacant 
time  in  lounging  about  idly,  and  in  drinking  what  they  have 
earned  through  the  week.  I  have  thought  of  a  reading- 
room  where  we  could  supply  good  reading  for  the  even 
ings,  and  keep  them  away  from  bad  company  ;  but  I  don't 
know  how  to  go  about  it ;  I  cannot  go  among  men,  that 
would  not  be  exactly  feminine,  and  I  cannot  bear  all  the 
expense  myself." 

"  Would  it  not  be  well,  Madeline,  first  to  bring  the 
matter  before  some  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood  ?" 

"That  is  exactly  the  way,  Aunt  Clara;  I'll  send  for 
Roland,  he  shall  make  the  speech — I'll  give  notice  in  the 
Sunday-school,  and  then  I'll  send  notices  around  to  the 
principal  gentlemen,  to  meet  at  the  Sunday-school  room." 

Madeline  was  full  of  her  new  plan,  and  put  it  into 
practice  immediately — notifying  the  Sunday-school,  sending 
for  Roland,  and  canvassing  the  neighborhood  thoroughly, 
by  means  of  the  messengers.  Ten  days  were  allowed  to 
prepare  for  the  meeting ;  she  talked  about  it  in  the  Sunday- 
school  eagerly,  for  the  ungodliness  of  the  men  was  sorely 
distressing  to  her  benevolent  spirit. 

Roland  came  —  the  evening  arrived,  the  room  was 
lighted  early,  and  Madeline  watched  eagerly  for  an 
audience.  A  few  strolled  in,  some  of  the  mothers  of  the 


SEAWEED.  399 

children,  some  of  the  young  ladies,  and  a  few  of  the  chil 
dren's  fathers ;  but  this  was  not  what  Madeline  wanted — 
it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  but  two  gentlemen,  one 
the  old  minister  of  Roland's  church,  the  other,  a  gentleman 
somewhat  interested  in  the  morals  of  the  neighborhood. 
After  a  while,  a  half  dozen  more  came,  then  three  or  four 
more,  until  about  one  dozen  were  present;  at  last,  quite  a 
party  of  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  took  their  seats,  and  the 
meeting  commenced. 

Roland  had  acquainted  Mr.  Stewart  with  the  object  of 
the  meeting,  and  requested  him  to  state  it  to  the  audience, 
and  open  the  exercises  with  prayer.  Interest  had  brought 
but  few,  curiosity  the  larger  number. 

After  the  opening  exercises,  Roland  arose.  His  name  had 
not  been  announced ;  but  while  he  spoke,  the  rich,  manly 
voice,  and  quiet  dignity  of  manner  at  once  enchained  atten 
tion  ;  and  as  he  proceeded  to  describe  the  wants  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  the  necessity  of  some  efforts  by  which 
to  benefit  the  working  classes,  gradually  his  manner  in 
creased  in  warmth ;  and  when  he  alluded  to  the  days  when 
as  a  boy  athirst  for  knowledge,  he  had  sat  on  these  benches, 
and  had  often  longed  for  the  use  of  a  well-assorted  library, 
there  was  a  general  buzzing  among  the  young  people. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?"  said  Minnie  Smith. 

"Why,  don't  you  remember  Roland  Bruce?"  replied 
Lizzie  Belton. 

"  It  cannot  be  possible  —  that  elegant  looking  man, 
Roland  Bruce!  then  such  a  speaker!  I  can't  believe  the 
evidence  of  my  own  senses." 

"  I  know  his  eye,  Minnie,  I  knew  him  as  soon  as  I  looked 
at  him — I  heard  the  other  day  that  he  is  quite  a  distin 
guished  lawyer  in  New  York." 

"  Well,  dear  me  !  who  ever  could  have  believed  it?" 

"  Why,  Madeline  Hamilton  believed  it — or  else  she  never 
would  have  taken  so  much  interest  in  him — proud  minx ! 
she  always  said  that  he'd  be  a  great  man  yet." 


400  WOODCLIFF. 

•'  Let  us  listen,  Lizzie,  we  are  losing  his  speech  ;"  and 
the  young  girls  stopped  talking,  to  listen  to  his  eloquence. 
He  represented  the  wants  of  the  working  man,  said  he 
had  an  intellect  demanding  food,  as  well  as  a  body ;  that 
he  had  a  right  to  both  ;  he  believed  that  many  might  be 
reclaimed  and  elevated,  if. those  more  favored  would  lend  a 
helping  hand,  and  recognise  the  one  great  fact  of  brother 
hood  —  on  this  he  spoke  feelingly,  for  he  had  felt  deeply. 
In  glowing  words,  he  enlarged  upon  the  advantages  of  use 
ful  reading,  appealed  to  those  who  employed  these  men  ; 
and  asked  if  they  would  not  make  better  workmen,  more 
faithful  laborers,  more  moral  and  intelligent,  if  conscious 
that  there  were  hands  stretched  out,  saying,  "  Come  my 
brother,  I  will  help  you." 

All  listened  respectfully;  and  at  the  close,  the  gentlemen 
present  contributed  something,  those  of  large  means  libe 
rally,  and  Madeline  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  scheme 

likely  to  prosper.     After  all  had  subscribed,  "  M.  H " 

modestly  added  one  hundred  dollars  to  the  list.  "  Who  is 
he?  Who  is  he?''  was  the  question  whispered  all  round 
when  the  meeting  was  over. 

"  A  young  man  by  the  name  of  Bruce,  I  think,"  was  the 
.reply  of  Mr.  Belton. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Stewart,  his  former 
minister ;  "  he  was  once  a  boy  in  the  Sunday-school  of  my 
church,  and  a  member  of  Maple  Lane  School,  very  poor, 
very  humble,  but  an  excellent  son,  a  devoted  brother,  an 
earnest  Christian,  with  bright  talents,  all  exercised  for  his 
Master.  He  is  a  child  of  Providence,  gentlemen,  raised  to 
what  he  is  by  a  blessing  upon  a  mother's  piety  and  manly 
trust  in  God.'' 

Several  went  forward,  and  shook  him  warmly  by  the 
hand. 

"  We  are  proud  of  our  Maple  Lane  boy,  sir;  your  minis 
ter  has  told  us  something  of  your  history." 

Lizzie  Belton  and  Minnie  Smith  looked  quited  abashed, 


SEAWEED.  401 

hiding  their  faces  as  Madeline  proudly  took  Roland's  arm, 
and  left  the  room.  As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing, 
she  exclaimed — 

"  There,  Roland,  don't  say  that  I  am  not  a  prophetess ; 
I  knew  the  day  would  come  when  you'd  make  these  silly 
upstarts  feel  ashamed  of  themselves.  I  felt  proud  of  you 
to-night,  Roland,  for  I  saw  that  they  were  mortified  as 
soon  as  they  knew  who  it  was.  I  suppose  that  they  would 
like  to  obtain  the  notice  of  Roland  Bruce  now." 

"  Madeline,  is  not  this  very  much  of  the  old  leaven  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,  guardian ;  but  it  was  in  this  very 
room  where  they  used  to  be  so  mean,  and  I  could  not  help 
the  feeling.  They  have  heard  you  make  your  speech  in 
Maple  Lane  School,  and  it  did  some  good,  too;  I  am 
thankful  for  that.  Now  I  'm  going  to  prophesy  a  little 
more  —  don't  shake  your  wise  head,  good  sir,  at  my  folly — 
you  '11  be  an  '  Honorable'  yet.  I  expect  to  address  letters 
to  the  '  Honorable  Roland  Bruce,  IT.  S.  Senate.'  " 

Roland  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Of  all  the  scheming  little  heads  that  ever  sat  upon  the 
shoulders  of  a  woman,  yours  exceeds.  What  possesses 
you,  Madeline  ?"  and  Roland  laughed  again  most  heartily ; 
"  how  can  you  ever  dream  of  such  a  thing  ?  I  shall  never 
be  a  politician." 

"  No,  I  know  that,  I  should  be  very  sorry  for  that ;  but 
worth  and  talent  sometimes  meets  its  reward,  even  here." 

"  Madeline,  I  have  but  one  ambition, — to  serve  my  God 
faithfully  in  whatever  station  he  appoints,  and  to  walk 
hand  in  hand  with  one  of  the  purest  and  loveliest  of  God's 
creatures  in  the  path  that  leads  us  home  to  Heaven." 


84* 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

BEATITUDES. 

A  MARINER  on  the  broad,  mysterious  ocean  is  sailing 
homeward ;  he  has  encountered  many  fearful  storms,  laid 
by  wearily  in  exhausting  calms,  and  steered  safely  amid 
rocks  and  shoals,  with  the  blessed  haven  still  in  sight  of 
faith's  eyeglass.  He  is  nearing  home  ;  chart  and  compass 
awaken  a  thrill  of  hope  and  love,  as  they  point  so  surely  to 
the  same  familiar  outline  of  approaching  land.  A  small 
speck,  as  of  a  distant  star,  is  gleaming  on  him  through  the 
atmosphere ;  sometimes  very  faint,  then  brighter,  clearer, 
fuller,  until  the  beacon  of  the  light-house,  with  the  steady 
brilliancy  of  a  small,  well-defined  orb,  speaks  to  his  heart 
the  one  sweet  word  of  "  Home." 

He  speeds  on  swiftly,  steadily,  with  canvas  spread  to 
the  breeze,  and  finds  himself  anchored  at  last  in  quiet 
waters,  waiting  for  the  pilot  to  take  him  into  port.  The 
vessel  lies  peacefully  upon  the  rippling  waves,  the  air  is 
scarcely  moving,  the  sails  flap  lazily,  and  the  scream  of  the 
sea-bird  is  exchanged  for  the  softer  melodies  of  birds  nearer 
land,  as  they  fly  low  with  their  song  of  welcome.  The  sails 
are  now  taken  in,  and  the  sailors  are  singing  songs  of 
home ;  the  air  is  full  of  music,  for  the  murmurs  of  the 
gentle  waves,  the  light  spray  dashing  slowly  against  the 
sides  of  the  vessel,  whose  rocking  -lullaby  is  scarcely  per 
ceptible — all  murmur  harmonious  notes  to  the  hearts  of  the 
weary,  home-sick  mariners ;  the  captain,  assured  that  "  all 's 
well,"  goes  below  to  dream  of  home,  of  clasping  arms,  warm 
kisses,  and  words  of  holy  love.  They  have  reached  the 
(402) 


BEATITUDES.  403 

latitude  of  a  seaman's  blessedness,  "near  home."  Thus 
far,  too,  has  Roland  sailed  upon  the  voyage  of  life ;  his 
bark  has  ridden  safely  through  storm  and  calm,  through 
rock  and  shoal,  with  the  beacon  light  of  faith  and  hope 
always  shining  bright  above  him,  and  looking  thus  steadily 
aloft,  he,  too,  has  reached  the  quiet  waters  of  the  "  Beati 
tudes."  He  reads  much  in  that  sweet  chapter  of  "the  ser 
mon  on  the  mount,"  and,  from  the  depths  of  a  blissful  ex 
perience,  feels  what  Jesus  means  when  he  pronounces  the 
word  "  blessed"  upon  the  children  of  his  love. 

"  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven." 

The  poor  before  God — has  he  not  realized  the  blessedness 
of  that  kingdom,  which  is  joy,  and  peace,  and  love  in  the 
Holy  Ghost  ?  He  loves  to  dwell  separately  on  these  beati 
tudes  ;  as  the  miser  lingers  over  the  "  unrighteous  mam 
mon,"  so  Roland  muses  over  his  heavenly  treasures,  fearful 
lest  one  should  fade  away  from  the  grasp  of  faith. 

"Blessed  are  the  meek,"  says  our  dear  Lord,  "for  they 
shall  inherit  the  earth." 

The  meek  —  those  contented  with  their  earthly  lot,  only 
anxious  for  the  favor  of  God  —  they  shall  truly  inherit  the 
earth  now  with  their  spirit  of  contentment,  and  hereafter, 
in  the  days  of  millennial  glory,  when  the  saints  shall  truly 
possess  the  renovated  earth — and  with  his  spiritual  growth 
hath  not  the  Master  blessed  Roland  in  basket  and  in  store  ? 
and  even  if  he  had  not,  would  not  the  spirit  of  humble 
piety  be  to  him  a  richer  boon  than  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  ? 

He  has  reached  these  quiet  waters,  and  dwells  among 
the  regions  of  the  "Beatitudes."  Is  not  Roland  happy? 
and  may  not  all  who  thus  cast  themselves  upon  the  good 
providence  of  God,  while  steadily  pursuing  duty,  be  equally 
blessed  ?  Jesus'  words  have  meaning ;  let  us  prove  their 
power. 

Roland  is  the  same  active,  energetic,  earnest  man,  rising 
daily  in  public  estimation,  while  seeking  only  the  favor  of 


404  WOODCLIFP. 

God.  Days  of  deeper  trial  may  yet  come,  but  God  in  his 
wisdom  chooses  their  time.  While  walking  in  the  footsteps 
of  Daniel,  nought  is  needed  but  the  discipline  of  Daniel. 

"  Do  you  know,  Roland,  that  they  are  talking  of  you  for 
the  Legislature  ?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  him  by  Edmund  Norris, 
who  was  greatly  interested  in  his  friend's  success. 

"Nonsense,  Edmund!"  was  the  reply;  "I  should  never 
please  the  politicians.  I  am  no  party  man,  and  would 
never  stoop  to  the  tricks  of  men  in  office." 

"There  is  really  a  chance  for  you,  Roland,  and  I  don't 
see  why  corrupt  men  are  to  be  allowed  always  to  rule  the 
land.  I  think  high-minded,  honorable  men  are  greatly  to 
blame  for  not  taking  more  interest  in  public  affairs;  they 
could  do  much  towards  purifying  our  halls  of  legislature, 
as  well  as  our  courts  of  justice." 

"  I  have  plenty  to  do  here  in  my  private  walk,  Edmund, 
and  can  thus  exercise  a  silent  influence  among  my  fellow- 


men." 

In  a  few  days,  Roland  found  that  all  was  not  merely 
Edmund's  talk,  for  a  party  of  gentlemen  waited  upon  him 
to  see  if  he  would  allow  his  name  to  be  used  in  the  next 
election.  He  listened  quietly  to  their  propositions. 

"  What  do  you  expect,  gentlemen,  of  your  representa 
tive  ?" 

"  That  he  would  by  all  measures  advance  the  prosperity 
of  his  State." 

Roland  smiled,  saying — 

"  According  to  the  views  of  a  certain  party." 

"  Certainly ;  he  is  bound  to  represent  those  who  send 
him." 

"  Then  I  suppose  that  he  is  expected  to  attend  to  many 
little  matters  of  private  interest;  that  is  frequently  attended 
with  much  trouble.  What  will  he  receive  for  such  offices?" 

"  He  may  pocket  many  a  cool  five  hundred  in  this  way, 
if  he  is  only  accommodating." 


BEATITUDES.  405 

"  Supposing  that  his  judgment  and  conscience  should 
both  be  opposed  to  the  views  of  his  constituents  on  some 
points,  what  would  be  expected?" 

•'  That  he  would  waive  such  inconvenient  things  in  the 
way  of  politics,  and  always  consult  the  interest  of  his 
party." 

"  Then  you  expect  him,  in  a  free  country,  to  give  up  his 
own  independence.  Is  that  so,  gentlemen  ?" 

"Of  course  —  he  cannot  be  a  public  man,  and  preserve 
that.  The  independence  of  a  politician  is  only  read  in  the 
Constitution  of  the  land ;  it  has  no  real  existence — he  has 
sold  it." 

"  Then,  farewell,  gentlemen  —  I  am  a  foreigner  by  birth, 
but  an  American  by  choice.  I  revere  the  men  who  framed 
our  Constitution,  and  am  willing  to  be  guided  by  its  noble 
teachings.  I  cannot  consent  to  your  proposition  of  making 
it  a  dead  letter  in  my  case,  nor  can  I  surrender  the  inesti 
mable  right's  of  manhood.  I  thank  God  for  my  conscience, 
and  my  judgment ;  I  will  not  hoodwink  the  one,  nor  act 
against  the  dictates  of  the  other.  I  am  a  freeman.  If 
ever  I  fill  a  public  station,  it  will  be  as  an  independent 
man,  to  advance  the  right,  the  just,  the  true  only.  I  am 
not  your  man ;  I  would  be  of  no  earthly  use  to  individuals 
— the  '  cool  five  hundred'  cannot  buy  me." 

"  We  are  sorry,  Mr.  Bruce,"  replied  the  speaker ;  "  with 
your  talents,  you  could  reach  any  post  of  honor  that  you 
choose ;  but  with  your  romantic  notions,  you  are  throwing 
away  a  golden  opportunity." 

"This  would  be  no  post  of  honor  to  me,  gentlemen; 
there  are  others  more  private,  more  influential,  that  involve 
no  sacrifice  of  principle;  I  have  chosen  such,  and  have  the 
sweet  approval  of  my  conscience;  I  cannot  barter  that  for 
any  earthly  good,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  impressively  upon 
his  heart. 

"  We  honor  your  integrity,  but  it  will  not  do  in  a  world 
like  ours — good-morning,  sir." 


406  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Good-morning,  gentlemen — God  is  wiser  than  man,  and 
by  his  laws  will  I  be  governed." 

Edmund  was  disappointed  at  the  result  of  this  interview . 

"And  so  you  rejected  the  offers  that  I  spoke  of,  Roland ; 
I  think  that  you  carry  your  high-flown  notions  too  far — you 
might  easily  have  accepted  such  a  position,  and  not  have 
compromised  your  principles  in  the  least." 

"  We  differ  in  sentiment,  Edmund ;  and  the  day  will 
come,  when  you  will  agree  with  me — experience  is  a  great 
teacher." 

"Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God." 
This  beatitude  spoke  volumes  to  Roland  that  night,  as  he 
sank  to  quiet  slumbers ;  for  peace  soon  follows  sacrifice. 

In  the  exercise  of  Christian  principles,  Roland  was  a 
happy,  prosperous  man,  for  wealth  smiled  upon  him  in  the 
daily  increase  of  his  practice  ;  and  though  he  occupied  no 
place  of  public  trust,  he  was  much  more  honored  in  the 
omission  than  in  the  gift. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Madeline  is  now  in  New  York,  whither  she  has  been 
called  on  important  business. 

"  Shall  we  take  a  sail  this  evening  ?"  asked  Roland. 

"Nothing  would  be  more  pleasant;  let  us  go  early,  and 
return  by  moonlight." 

The  sail  on  the  quiet  waters  of  the  bay  was  one  of  those 
periods  of  heart  communion  which  are  among  the  purest 
joys  of  earthly  intercourse. 

The  world  shut  out ;  the  low  whispers  of  this  evening 
hour,  as  they  sat  apart,  indicated  the  deep  feelings  of  each 
young  heart. 

They  sat  watching  the  passing  vessels,  some  sailing  out, 
others  coming  in  from  the  sea ;  craft  of  all  kinds  and  sizes 
gliding  by  them  so  gently,  all  containing  pilgrims  on  the 
waters  of  life. 

"  Roland,  do  you  ever  think  how  much  these  little  boats 
resemble  the  voyagers  of  mortality  ?" 


BEATITUDES.  407 

"  Yes,  Madeline,  all  bound  to  the  ocean  of  eternity ;  we 
are  sailing  with  them,  dearest  —  it  seems  very  sweet  and 
peaceful — what  a  sad  thought  that  so  many  may  be  speed 
ing  on  the  voyage  which  ends  in  a  fearful  wreck  at  last !" 

"  How  blessed  are  we,  dear  Roland,  to  feel  that  our  little 
barks  are  guided  by  a  gracious  hand!  for  we  know  who 
steers  them  on  so  safely." 

"  Do  you  realize  the  presence  of  that  precious  Saviour, 
Madeline  ?  I  have  been  lately  studying  the  sermon  on  the 
mtfunt ;  have  you  ever  thought,  dear,  of  the  full  meaning 
of  the  Saviour's  word,  '  blessed  ?'  " 

"And  I  have  been  reading  in  the  same,  dear  Roland  ;  and 
think  that  I  am  learning,  slowly,  the  meaning  of  those 
precious  '  beatitudes' —  as  I  bend  at  my  daily  devotions, 
and  read  the  holy  book;  as  I  walk  among  my  poor  de 
pendents  in  the  green  lanes  at  Woodcliff,  or  worship  in  the 
school-room  of  Maple  Lane,  I  feel  the  murmured  bene 
diction,  and  know  now  what  Jesus  means,  when  he  says 
those  precious  words,  '  blessed'  are  they  who  exercise  these 
holy  emotions." 

Roland  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  con 
tinued, 

"  Our  little  barks  are  now  in  quiet  waters,  dearest — why 
should  they  be  any  longer  separated?  or  rather  when  shall 
we  occupy  the  same  vessel,  and  sail  together  on  the  same 
stream  ?"  and  Roland  took  the  little  hand  within  his  own, 
and  listened  for  the  answer. 

She  smiled  archly,  as  she  replied, 

"Our  present  life  is  very  happy,  Roland;  the  married 
people  say  that  these  are  the  happiest  days  —  why  then 
should  we  wish  to  bring  them  to  a  close  so  soon  ?" 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  Madeline  ?"  said  Roland,  as  she 
turned  away  to  hide  her  blushes,  "  do  you  believe  any  such 
thing?  don't  you  know  that  we  would  both  be  happier 
were  our  destinies  united  ?  and  then,  dearest,  remember, 
that  I  have  no  home, — a  parlor  and  two  rooms  are  not 


408  WOODCLIFF. 

home,  Madeline.  I  brought  you  here  this  afternoon  just  to 
ask,  how  much  longer  must  I  go  alone  ?" 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  tease  you,  Roland,  but  the  old  feeling 
of  mischief  is  very  tempting  —  now,  I  suppose,  that  you 
want  to  bring  my  liberty  to  an  end  ;  to  put  aside  the  lover, 
with  his  sweet  whispered  words,  and  to  begin  the  husband, 
with  his  tones  of  authority.  '  Madam,  I  wish  it  so,'  and 
'  Madam,  you  must  not  do  this,'  and  '  Madam,  you  must 
not  do  that ;'  is  it  not  so,  Roland  ?" 

He  understood  the  little  artifice,  by  which  she  evaded*  an 
answer,  and  smiled  again,  as  he  replied, 

"  You  are  afraid  of  no  such  thing,  Madeline ;  you  know 
your  power,  and  the  deep  love  that  fills  my  heart ;  do  not 
trifle  when  I  want  a  serious  answer." 

She  laid  her  little  hand  quietly  within  the  grasp  of  the 
strong,  firm  man,  and  said, 

"  Take  me,  Roland,  I  am  yours  for  life  —  through  weal 
and  woe,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  until  death  us  do  part." 

The  moment  of  levity  had  passed. 

"  When  shall  I  call  you  mine  ?'' 

"  In  two  months  from  to-day,  Roland ;  will  that  suffice, 
dearest?" 

"  Why  should  it  be  two  months  ?  I  cannot  understand 
what  you  ladies  have  to  do  —  what  is  the  use  of  such  an 
extensive  wardrobe  ?  It  is  just  as  easily  made  up  after 
wards.  I  could  be  ready  in  a  day,  Madeline." 

"And  you  really  would  deprive  me,  Roland,  of  a  young 
bride's  pleasure  —  it  is  such  a  joy  to  prepare  a  wedding 
trousseau  1" 

"  You  don't  think  so,  Madeline,  for  I  know  no  one  who 
cares  so  little  for  the  fripperies  of  dress  as  you — now  what 
is  the  reason  for  delay  ?" 

"To  be  serious  then,  Roland;  Aunt  Matilda  has  some 
peculiar  notions  about  these  matters ;  and  since  I  have  not 
pleased  her  altogether  in  my  choice,  I  think  it  is  due  to  her 


BEATITUDES.  409 

to  consult  her  wishes  in  this  one  thing  —  she  would  never 
hear  to  any  thing  else,  I  know." 

"  Well,  then  !  be  it  so — two  mouths  from  to-day  ;  that  is 
the  decision." 

The  spirit  of  mischief  returned. 

"  Don't  you  pity  the  poor  thing,  with  the  proud  spirit, 
giving  herself  away  to  such  a  grand  Mogul,  with  all  his 
strict  notions  of  right  and  wrong?  I  am  afraid  that  she 
will  beat  her  wings  against  the  bars  of  her  cage." 

"  Do  you  really  fear  the  bonds  of  matrimony,  Madeline?" 

"With  you,  dearest?  no — you  may  lead  me  where  you 
will ;  for  I  know  that  it  will  always  be  in  paths  of  holiness 
and  love." 

"  Here  then  is  the  token  of  our  union  !"  and  Roland 
placed  upon  her  finger  the  ring  of  betrothal,  and  then 
kissed  the  dear  hand  that  lay  so  confidingly  clasped  in  his. 

"Now,  Madeline,  I  have  something  to  show  you;  it  is 
too  dark  to  read  it  now,  but  I  can  tell  you  what  it  is.  I 
want  you  only — Madeline,  without  her  dowry;  she  only 
is  the  object  of  my  love.  I  have  drawn  up  this  document, 
in  which  all  your  estate  is  secured  to  yourself  forever ;  so 
that  1  can  be  wholly  cleared  from  any  suspicions  of  sordid 
motives  —  your  wealth  has  always  been  a  drawback,  and 
long  withheld  me  from  seeking  your  hand." 

"And  do  you  think,  Roland  Bruce,  that  I  would  marry  a 
man  whom  I  could  not  trust  with  everything  that  is  mine? 
What !  separate  interests  between  man  and  wife  !  are  we 
not  one,  Roland  ?  one  in  love,  in  hope,  in  pursuits,  one  in 
the  hopes  of  a  better  world ;  and  shall  we  not  be  one  in 
all  things  pertaining  to  this  mortal  life  ?  No,  Roland — 
what  is  mine,  is  yours — yours  to  direct,  to  manage,  to  con 
trol  —  we  are  one  in  all .  things,  Roland,  I  will  hear  to 
nothing  else  ;  I  do  not  want  to  read  that  paper;  I  am  blushing 
while  I  think  of  it." 

Roland  was  silent  a  moment,  from  the  depth  of  his  emo 
tions. 

35 


410  WOODCLIFP. 

"  Your  confidence  shall  never  be  abused,  my  own  pre 
cious  Madeline  ;  we  will  try  to  use  these  gifts  as  stewards 
for  our  Master,  and  I  feel  assured  that  he  will  bless  us." 

The  return  home  was  full  of  sweet  reflections;  for  amid 
the  music  that  swelled,  and  then  died  away  from  passing 
pleasure  boats,  there  came  a  voice  over  the  quiet  waters, 
which  pronounced  them  "blessed,"  and  they  heard  its  bliss 
ful  whispers. 

We  will  leave  them  to  this  hour  that  comes  but  once  in 
mortal  life  ;  and  will  not  anticipate  the  discipline  that  must 
purge  away  the  remaining  dross  of  imperfect  human  cha 
racter,  until  presented  faultless  before  the  throne  of  God. 
******* 

Aunt  Matilda  resigns  herself  to  the  necessity  of  such  a 
marriage,  and  busies  herself  in  the  preparations,  for  she  is 
determined  that  there  shall  be  a  grand  wedding  at  Wood- 
cliff.  There  is  much  to  do,  for  the  young  pair  are  to  sail 
for  Europe  immediately  after  their  marriage.  Lavinia 
Raymond  is  shocked  at  such  a  degradation,  and  declares 
that  neither  she  nor  her  mother  will  countenance  such  a 
sacrifice  by  their  presence ;  Harry  Castleton  and  Charles 
Davenport  are  disgusted  when  they  hear  of  their  new 
cousin,  and  several  young  ladies  around  Woodcliff  utterly 
surprised. 

"  It  may  do  for  Madeline  Hamilton  to  take  such  a  step, 
she  can  afford  it,"  said  Lizzie  Belton  ;  "  but  for  any  of  us, 
we  should  lose  caste  at  once." 

The  wedding  day  arrived.  It  was  a  bright  and  beautiful 
morning  in  the  month  of  May.  Madeline  arose  early,  and 
sat  quietly  at  her  chamber  window  looking  out  upon  the 
beauteous  prospect ; — all  creation  smiled  ;  so  felt  the  young 
girl  —  the  birds  carolled  their  sweetest  songs  around  the 
window  ;  flowers  bloomed  everywhere  in  rich  abundance  ; 
the  sky  was  clear,  for  but  a  few  fleecy  clouds  floated  over 
the  landscape. 

"  This  is  my  wedding  day,"  whispered  Madeline,  "would 


BEATITUDES.  411 

that  my  dear  father  were  here  to  bless  his  daughter;  but 
he  is  in  a  better  land,  where  there  is  neither  marrying  nor 
giving  in  marriage." 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  prayed  in  solemn  silence  for 
herself,  and  for  him  who  was  henceforth  to  be  her  partner 
in  the  journey  of  life ;  and  after  the  sweet  hour  of  commu 
nion  with  God,  descended  to  the  breakfast  room ;  the  only 
marks  of  emotion  visible,  the  blushing  cheek,  quivering  lip, 
and  dewy  eyes.  George  Stanley  and  Helen  Thornly,  with 
Edmund  Norris  and  Lucy  Edmunds,  acted  as  groomsmen 
and  bridesmaids. 

We  need  not  say  that  the  bride  was  lovely,  nor  the  groom 
imposing  in  his  appearance  —  a  full  flowing  dress  of  white 
satin,  and  a  cloud  of  exquisite  lace,  through  which  gleamed 
diamonds  and  orange  blossoms,  enveloped  the  fair  bride. 

The  Bishop  of  the  tliocese  officiated  ;  for  as  yet,  there 
was  no  minister  settled  in  the  neighborhood.  It  was  no 
empty  ceremony  of  mere  show  for  Madeline  —  she  would 
have  prefered  a  more  quiet  wedding  —  but  almost  uncon 
scious  of  the  presence  of  so  many,  she  took  her  solemn 
vow  before  God.  A  sweet  smile  of  happiness  played  around 
her  mouth,  bright  rose-tints  shone  through  the  bridal  veil, 
and  the  eyes,  when  raised  to  her  husband's  face,  expressed 
pure  and  holy  confidence,  with  perfect  love.  Roland's  de 
portment  was  calm,  dignified,  reverential —  he  looked  upon 
the  fair  being  at  his  side,  as  one  committed  to  his  love  by 
God  himself,  and  deeply  solemn  were  the  vows  made  on 
that  day,  before  the  marriage  altar. 

Madeline's  first  glance  was  for  Roland's  father,  who  was 
standing  near. 

"  Bring  him  here,  Roland."  She  took  the  pale  hand,  and 
presented  her  cheek  to  him,  saying, 

•'  Love  me,  dear  father,  you  have  a  daughter  now ;"  and 
Stephen  Bruce  looked  down  upon  the  fair  face  and  smiled 
sadly,  as  he  replied, 

"  Be  happy,  my  dear  children,  happier  than  I  hae  been  " 


412  WOODCLIFF. 

George  Stanley  was  to  be  ordained  in  the  autumn ;  and 
the  married  pair  looked  on  quietly,  pleased  on  seeing 
so  many  indications  of  an  incipient  attachment  between 
the  young  man  and  their  friend  Helen. 

"  Would  it  not  be  pleasant,  Roland,"  said  the  young 
wife,  "to  have  them  near  us,  George  for  our  minister,  and 
Helen  for  the  pastor's  wife  ?" 

"  I  suppose,  dear,  that  we  are  for  marrying  all  good 
people ;  but  seriously,  I  do  believe  that  my  friend  George 
is  deeply  interested  in  our  little  Helen." 

Laying  aside  her  wedding-dress,  they  met  at  the  supper 
table  as  a  social  family  party ;  and  after  tea,  Madeline  ring 
ing  a  bell,  summoned  the  household  to  the  library. 

Roland  took  his  place  at  the  table  as  head  of  the  family, 
and  with  a  serious,  manly  voice,  addressed  a  few  words  to 
those  present ;  then  reverently  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible, 
making  a  few  serious  remarks, — Madeline  led  the  singing 
with  the  accompaniment  of  a  parlor  organ,  and  Roland 
closed  the  service  by  an  earnest,  fervent  prayer. 

Returning  to  the  drawing-room,  Madeline  excused  her 
self  a  moment,  and  leading  her  husband  to  the  landing  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  said, — 

"  I  want  to  hear  what  the  Eolian  says  on  our  wedding- 
day,  Roland  —  how  soft!  how  peaceful  are  its  murmurs, 
dear!" 

"  Yes,  Madeline — the  air  itself  is  very  soothing,  and  then 
our  feelings  of  calm  and  tranquil  blessedness  are  reproduced 
on  the  sweet  harp." 

"  I  am  a  little  more  fanciful  than  you,  dear  —  I  must  be 
lieve  in  the  ministry  of  angels ;  you  know,  Roland,  that  we 
are  told  that  they  are  ministering  spirits,  and  that  they 
encamp  around  the  dwellings  of  the  righteous.  I  believe, 
dear,  in  your  prayer  to-night,  that  you  invoked  their  pre 
sence  ;  it  is  a  sweet  fancy  that  they  may  breathe  upon  these 
chords  of  unearthly  music." 

"  If  so,   Madeline,  they  are  discoursing  charmingly  to 


BEATITUDES.  413 

night  —  for  I  can  imagine  nothing  in  this  weird  music, 
with  its  mysterious  strains,  but  sounds  of  peace,  and  joy, 
and  love.'' 

The  only  drawback  to  their  happiness  was  the  thought 
of  leaving  old  Mr.  Bruce  behind  them  ;  but  a  knowledge  of 
bis  sorrows  had  interested  Aunt  Matilda,  and  her  kind 
heart  led  her  to  promise  to  take  good  care  of  the  old  gen 
tleman. 

He  seemed  quite  pleased  with  the  idea  of  living  in  the 
country  ;  Roland  left  a  number  of  charges  with  him,  and  it 
was  a  grateful  thought  that  he  could  be  useful  to  his  son. 

Susan  Grant  was  appointed  teacher  of  Madeline's  little 
school ;  and  old  Mr.  Bruce  spent  his  evenings  generally  at 
the  reading-rooms,  acting  as  librarian. 

Accompanied  by  Stanley  and  Helen,  they  reached  New 
York ;  taking  leave  of  them,  they  sailed  in  the  first  steamer 
for  Liverpool ;  and,  after  a  quick  passage  across  the  ocean, 
reached  their  destined  port.  Hurrying  on,  they  found 
themselves  in  the  great  metropolis  of  England;  the  Earl 

of  N was  out  of  town ;  anxious  to  see  her  friends, 

Madeline  made  no  Stay  in  London,  but  proceeded  directly 
to  Parkhurst. 

Their  journey  was  through  a  charming  country,  at  a  most 
lovely  season  of  the  year,  when  spring  flowers  were  abun 
dant  ;  the  hawthorn  hedges  in  full  bloom  ;  and  all  nature 
rejoicing  in  the  fresh  green  of  a  spring-time  in  England. 

Madeline's  emotions  were  rather  embarrassing  as  she 
drew  near  to  Parkhurst ;  and  when  the  porter  at  the  lodge 
opened  the  gate,  and  she  found  herself  really  driving  up 
the  avenue,  her  emotion  was  visible. 

Roland  smiled  as  he  read  the  speaking  face ;  and  taking 
her  hand,  he  said, 

"Madeline,  you  are  trembling." 

"  Yes,   Roland ;    I   am   thinking  of  the  last  evening  I 
spent  here  ;  it  is  nearly  three  years  ago,  and  I  dare  say 
35* 


414  WOODCLIFF. 

that  it  is  all  forgotten ;  but  these  scenes  revive  the  memory 
most  powerfully." 

Arriving  at  the  manor-house,  their  names  were  sent  up ; 
and,  in  another  minute,  the  Lady  Alice  came  running  in 
to  greet  her  beloved  friend. 

"  Welcome,  dearest  Madeline !  I  have  been  so  sure  that 
you  would  come ;"  and  she  embraced  the  young  bride  with 
the  warmth  of  old  friendship. 

"  My  husband,  Lady  Alice ;"  and  Roland  bowed  to  the 
noble  lady,  with  all  the  grace  of  courtly  ease. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  Parkhurst,  Mr.  Bruce,  for  Made 
line's  sake." 

"  How  came  you  here,  Lady  Alice !  I  supposed  that  you 
were  married  ere  this." 

"  I  have  been  a  wife,  Madeline,  six  weeks,  and  am  now 
making  a  visit  to  my  mother;  you  will  see  Lord  Elmore  at 
dinner;"  ringing  the  bell,  she  called  a  servant,  directing 
him  to  show  the  visitors  to  the  room  which  she  pointed 
out. 

Madeline  ran  to  the  window  to  look  out  upon  the  familiar 
objects ;  the  same  gentle  deer,  the  cawing  of  the  dear  old 
rooks,  the  bloom  of  the  same  sweet  flowers,  and  the  deep 
shade  of  the  same  old  trees,  just  seemed  as  if  she  had  left 
them  but  yesterday. 

"  Is  it  not  charming,  Roland  ?"  said  the  young  wife, 
"  and  then,  when  you  see  the  dear  family,  you  will  not 
wonder  that  I  call  this  happy  home  another  Eden." 

Descending  to  the  drawing-room,  the  countess  was  there 
ready  to  receive  them. 

"And  so,  Madeline,  my  love,  you  come  to  us  as  a  bride," 
was  the  warm  salutation,  as  she  kissed  the  blushing  cheek, 
and  then  turned  gracefully  to  greet  her  husband. 

"  You  have  obtained  a  prize,  my  dear  sir ;  I  hope  that 
you  will  cherish  her  tenderly." 

Roland  bowed  over  the  fair  hand,  as  be  replied, 

"I  believe,  my  lady,  that  I  know  her  value." 


BEATITUDES.  415 

The  hour  for  dinner  arrived  ;  the  earl  gave  them  a  hearty 
welcome ;  and  Lord  Frederic,  who  was  now  a  fine  young 
man,  received  them  with  all  due  courtesy. 

"  Where  is  Lord  N ?"  thought  Madeline,  but  she  did 

not  ask. 

"  My  brother  is  out  riding  with  Lady  Lucy ;  we  expect 
them  every  minute/'  said  his  sister;  "and  now,  Madeline, 
let  me  introduce  you  to  my  husband,  Lord  Elmore ;"  and 
a  pleasant-looking  young  man,  with  a  quiet  face  of  good 
ness,  bowed  in  return  to  the  smij^  of  Madeline. 

In  a  short  time,  Lord  N entered,  with  the  Lady  Lucy 

leaning  upon  his  arm ;  be  was  taken  by  surprise,  blushed 
slightly,  but  advancing  to  Madeline,  he  said, 

"  Lady  Lucy,  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  our  friend, 
Mrs.  Bruce,  formerly  Miss  Hamilton,  of  whom  you  have 
heard  me  so  often  speak." 

The  young  lady,  with  a  very  sweet  smile  and  blush,  ex 
tended  her  hand  to  the  married  pair. 

Seated  at  the  table,  the  conversation  became  general. 

Lord  N was  polite,  kind,  friendly  to  Madeline  ;  but  it 

was  plsftn  that  the  gentle  Lady  Lucy  engrossed  all  the  more 
tender  attentions. 

"  How  long  since  you  were  married,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?"  asked 
Lord  X . 

"  About  five  weeks,  my  lord ;  we  left  Woodcliff  imme 
diately,  and  are  on  our  way  to  Scotland." 

"You  will  pay  us  a  visit,  dear  Madeline,"  said  the  Lady 
Alice,  "ere  you  go  further;  I  shall  hear  no  denials." 

Madeline  looked  towards  her  husband. 

"  Can  we  spare  the  time,  Mr.  Bruce  ?" 

"  I  think  so ;  we  are  not  to  be  hurried  in  our  move 
ments." 

After  dinner,  Lord  X uncovered  the  harp  ;  and  lead 
ing  Madeline  forward,  said, 

"  I  have  heard  no  such  strains  as  you  produced  ever 


416  WOODCLIFF 

I 

since  you  left  us,  Mrs.  Bruce ;  you  will  favor  us  this  even 
ing." 

"  Most  gladly,  my  lord ;  have  you  any  choice  ?" 

"  None  at  all ;  all  your  music  is  charming." 

Lady  Lucy  sat  near  the  harp,  for  she  was  enraptured 
with  the  performer,  and  no  less  with  the  sweet  strains 
produced  by  Madeline's  dainty  fingers,  as  they  wandered 
so  gracefully  among  the  harp-strings. 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  play  as  you  do,  Mrs.  Bruce ;  Lord 

N is  so  passionately  fond  of  music  ;    I  am  trying  to 

learn,  and  hope  that  I  shall  succeed." 

"  Do  you  understand  the  piano,  Lady  Lucy  ?" 

"I  think  that  I  do." 

"  Then  there  will  only  be  the  difficulty  of  learning  how 
to  manage  the  instrument,  which  will  require  diligent  prac 
tice  :  will  you  not  play  a  piece  ?" 

With  unaffected  ease,  she  took  her  seat,  and  played  with 
much  taste  a  simple  little  air,  and  turning  around,  artlessly, 
to  Madeline,  said, 

"  Do  you  think  it  worth  while  for  me  to  learn  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  was  the  quick  reply ;  "  you  have  taste, 
correctness  of  touch,  and  will  soon  acquire  skill." 

"  We  will  come  to  the  harp  to-morrow  morning  alone," 
said  the  young  lady,  "and  see  what  we  can  do;  perhaps 
you  will  point  out  my  errors." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  lady ;  I  shall  be  but  too  happy  to 
render  you  any  aid." 

Lord  N was  pleased  with  the  social  chat,  and  when 

he  had  the  opportunity,  said  to  Madeline, 

"  Is  she  not  charming  ?  so  artless !  and  yet  so  intelligent 
and  good !" 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  lovely  person,  Lord  N ;  may  I 

congratulate  you  in  the  possession  of  such  a  heart?" 

"You  may,  Mrs.  Bruce;  she  will  soon  be  mine." 

Next  morning,  the  young  ladies  met  in  the  drawing 
room,  and  Madeline  took  great  pleasure  in  directing  the 


BEATITUDES.  417 

hour's  practice ;  and  as  long  as  she  stayed  at  Parkhurst, 
the  Lady  Lucy  availed  herself  of  the  generous  aid  of  the 
youthful  visitor ;  mutually  pleased  with  each  other,  these 
were  happy  hours. 

A  visit  to  Elmore  Hall  completed  their  stay  in  England. 
Leaving  her  pleasant  friends,  Madeline  enjoyed  the  fine 
country  through  which  they  passed  on  their  way  to  Scot 
land. 

Stopping  in  their  journey  wherever  there  were  spots  of 
historical  interest,  or  beautiful  scenery,  their  northern  tour 
occupied  some  weeks.  Madeline's  naive  and  enthusiastic 
expressions  of  delight  were  fully  appreciated  by  the  fine 
taste  of  her  husband. 

******* 

"  Whom  hae  we  here  ?"  said  Uncle  Malcolm,  as  he  heard 
the  wheels  of  a  carriage  driving  up  to  the  door. 

"  They  are  travellers  frae  a  distance,  uncle,"  said  Annot 
Lindsay,  "for  they  hae  a  large  number  o'  trunks." 

Malcolm  could  think  of  but  one  such  party,  and  hurrying 
out,  the  beaming  faces  of  the  young  pair  greeted  him  from 
the  carriage  window. 

In  a  moment  Roland  was  pressed  to  his  heart,  and  Ma 
deline  most  affectionately  welcomed  to  the  Highland  Hall. 

"  How  lang  hae  ye  been  in  England,  Roland  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Graham. 

"About  three  months." 

"And  did  na  let  us  know,  Roland !     How  is  that?" 

"We  wanted  to  surprise  you,  my  good  sir;  and  then  we 
had  a  great  deal  to  see,  and  we  knew  that  you  would  hurry 
us  on  to  Scotland  ;  but  we  are  going  to  pay  you  the  longest 
visit." 

Uncle  Malcolm  took  Madeline's  hand. 

"May  the  dear  Lord  bless  ye,  my  sweet  young  leddy! 
ye  hae  made  a  noble  choice,  an'  I  doubt  na  will  be  a  happy 
wife." 

"  The  wife  of  Roland  Bruce  must  be  blessed,  Uncle  Mai- 


418  WOODOLIFF. 

colm ;  I  have  known  him  for  more  than  eleven  years,  and 
always  loved  him  even  from  a  child." 

Madeline  looked  around  her  with  wondering  eyes,  for  all 
was  so  different  from  the  calm  features  of  English  land 
scape.  High  mountains,  clothed  with  dark,  rich  foliage, 
and  the  rough  lineaments  of  the  Scottish  Highlands,  so 
totally  unlike  the  picturesque  country  through  which  she 
had  so  lately  passed.  But  it  had  great  charms — even  the 
novelty  made  it  attractive.  Then  this  Highland  home  of  a 
Scotch  gentleman  was  so  comfortable ;  such  a  warm  glow 
of  welcome  shone  upon  her  everywhere,  that  the  young 
heart  was  full  of  happiness,  and  the  bright  face  dimpled 
with  rosy  smiles. 

And  Annot  Lindsay  was  so  piquante !  so  fresh  !  so  guile 
less  !  Her  airy  little  figure,  soft  blue  eyes,  and  profusion 
of  light  ringlets  shading  her  sweet  young  face,  were  not 
her  only  charms.  The  warm  heart  that  beat  under  her  blue 
boddice,  and  the  musical  voice  that  greeted  Madeline  with 
such  a  simple,  earnest  welcome,  gained  the  heart  of  the 
young  bride  at  once ;  for  soon  after  supper,  the  two  were 
seated  side  by  side,  on  the  soft  sofa  of  the  family  room, 
quite  at  home  ;  Annot  holding  Madeline's  hand,  and  look 
ing  on  her  face  with  evident  admiration. 

"  Madeline,  I  luve  ye,"  whispered  the  young  girl,  as  she 
drew  closer  to  her,  and  leaned  her  pretty  head  upon  her 
shoulder — "  wunna  ye  be  my  sister,  Madeline  ?  for  I  ne'er 
had  ane." 

She  returned  the  caress  of  the  lovely  girl. 

"  That  is  just  my  case,  Annot,  and  I  can  easily  adopt  you 
as  my  little  sister ;  for  I  shall  not  return  to  America  with 
out  you." 

"  What  will  Uncle  Malcolm  say  to  that  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  am  wonderful  at  coaxing ;  ask  Roland  about 
that." 

While  this  episode  was  acting  upon  the  sofa,  Uncle  Mal 
colm  had  raised  the  piano. 


BEATITUDES.  419 

"It  has  been  tuned  on  purpose  for  ye,  dear ;  now,  sister 
Lindsay,  I  am  going  to  gie  ye  a  treat;"  and  the  good  man 
led  Madeline  to  the  instrument. 

"  Scotch  music  first,"  said  the  host. 

"  I  know  a  gi'eat  deal,  Uncle  Malcolm,  for  I  learned  it  to 
please  Roland." 

And  Madeline  threw  out  her  whole  soul  that  night,  and 
poured  forth  such  strains  of  melody  as  melted  every  heart — 
even  old  Lion  drew  closer  to  the  instrument,  looking  wist 
fully  in  the  face  of  the  performer. 

Then  came  several  fine  sacred  pieces,  which  particularly 
accorded  with  the  tastes  of  the  family  at  Graham  Hall. 

After  evening  worship,  Mrs.  Lindsay  led  her  guests  to 
their  room,  for  she  perceived  that  they  were  wearied  with 
their  journey. 

"  You  have  made  great  improvements,  Mrs.  Lindsay," 
said  Roland,  as  he  looked  around. 

"  Yes — Malcolm  wad  hae  everything  renewed ;  he  went 
to  London  himsel',  so  that  a'  should  be  right." 

"  He  has  made  this  a  charming  room,  indeed,"  said  Ro 
land  ;  "  one  would  scarcely  wish  to  leave  it." 

"  That  is  just  what  we  should  like,  Roland,  but  we  canna 
wish  for  sic'  happiness;  guid  night," — and  she  kissed  the 
cheek  of  the  young  wife,  and  departed. 

In  the  freedom  of  the  country,  the  three  young  people 
ran  about  with  the  gay  spirits  of  childhood,  searching  out 
the  fine  points  of  picturesque  views,  and  bringing  in  every 
variety  of  novel  plant.  Roland  often  laughed  at  Made 
line's  blunders,  who,  being  unacquainted  with  Scotch 
vegetation,  frequently  gathered  weeds  for  flowers. 

The  purple  tints  of  the  Scotch  heather  met  them  every 
where,  and  Madeline  could  easily  understand  why  it  was 
so  dear  to  Mrs.  Bruce  ;  for  was  it  not  almost  the  carpet  of 
the  Scotch  highlands  ?  Many  were  the  pleasant  excursions 
which  Uncle  Malcolm  devised  for  their  amusement — a  visit 
to  the  old  manse,  and  another  to  the  kirk,  where  Madeline 


420  WOODCLIFP. 

stood  in  silence  with  Roland,  amidst  the  memories  of  his 
childhood. 

"  We  must  see  Jennie,"  said  her  husband ;  and  the  old 
woman,  who  now  lived  at  the  manse,  was  summoned  to  the 
parlor. 

"An'  this  is  yer  bonny  bride,  Roland  !  may  she  aye  be 
a  blessed  wife !  she's  a  bright  young  bird !  wad  na  yer 
mither  hae  hived  her  weel  ?" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  at  the  manse,  Jennie." 

"Yes,  Roland  —  but  the  dear  ones  that  made  its  suu- 
shine,  hae  a'  gane ;  an'  a'  that  I  can  do  is  to  remember." 

"You  will  meet  them  again,  Jennie." 

"Yes,  i'  the  land  that's  far  awa',  hinney  —  when  this 
puir  body  hae  done  wi'  cares  an'  toils,  we  shall  a'  rejoice 
together." 

"  Here  is  something  for  you,  Jennie ;  a  warm  winter 
dress  ;  we  remembered  you  on  our  way." 

"And  I  too,"  said  the  young  wife,  as  she  unrolled  a  soft 
tartan  cloak. 

Jennie  dropped  a  courtesy,  as  she  said, 

"  These  are  just  what  1  wanted — it  wad  hae'  been  a  lang 
time  ere  I  could  hae'  bought  the  like ;  thank  ye  kindly,  my 
bonny  bairns." 

They  turned  to  go — "  Stay,  Roland  ;  I  hae  yer  mither's 
hymn-book ;  I  found  it  i'  the  auld  kirk,  an'  I  kenned  that 
nae  body  wad  luve  it  half  sae  weel." 

Roland  took  the  precious  relic,  and  bade  farewell. 

"God  bless  ye,  my  bairns;  an'  bring  ye  hame  to  the 
blessed  kingdom  ;"  were  the  parting  words  of  old  Jennie. 
******* 

Alone  they  stood  around  the  grave  of  Lilian  Gordon ; 
and  Madeline,  amid  the  deep  solitude  of  the  solemn  scenerv 
with  nought  but  the  murmurs  of  the  rustling  winds,  and 
the  gurgling  of  mountain  brooks  to  disturb  the  silence, 
could  sympathize  with  the  emotions  so  often  described  by 
Roland,  on  that  sacred  spot. 


BEATITUDES.  421 

"  Here  were  kindled  the  first  feelings  of  ancestral  pride, 
Roland;"  said  the  young  wife. 

"  Yes,  Madeline,  I  can  say  with  the  poet  Cowper, 

"  'My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 

From  loins  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth ; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise — 
The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies.'  " 

"  Here,  too,  was  kindled  your  dislike  of  the  Church  of 
England." 

"  That  is  true — and  can  you  wonder?  I  was  but  a  child, 
then,  with  all  the  strong  feelings  of  a  Scotch  education — I 
knew  nothing  of  the  noble  specimens  of  piety,  learning, 
and  the  true  catholic  spirit  which  distinguish  the  Church 
of  England  in  modern  days;  I  doubt  if  you  could  find  a 
persecuting  Laud  now." 

"  It  makes  me  so  happy,  my  husband,  to  hear  you  ex 
press  such  sentiments ;  for  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  find 
a  gulf  between  us,  on  such  a  subject." 

"  But,  really,  Madeline,  in  spite  of  all  these  old  grievances, 
I  do  prefer,  in  many  things,  the  church  of  your  love  —  it 
suits  my  spirit ;  the  solemn  order  of  its  ritual,  the  fervent 
tone  of  its  devotion,  baptized  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  breathed 
.throughout  these  sacred  offices,  seem  to  me  GO  much  more 
worthy  of  the  solemnity  of  public  worship  offered  to  the 
Deity,  than  the  rude  irreverent  speech  which  shocks  a  de 
votional,  humble  spirit;  the  trouble  is  just  here  —  people 
are  tempted  to  rest  in  forms,  and  where  there  is  not  a 
spirit  of  heartfelt  piety,  ^these  may  degenerate  into  mere 
lip-service." 

"  Yes,  Roland,  that  is  true  —  but  do  not  all  persons  who 
lead  public  exercises  have  their  own  forms  almost  stereo 
typed  ?  and  our  choice  must,  sometimes,  not  always  be, 
between  crude,  irreverent,  tedious  prayers,  and  the  wisdom, 
piety,  and  experience,  of  some  of  the  purest  spirits  of  the 
Reformation.  I  could  close  my  eyes,  sometimes,  and  say 
36 


\ 

422  WOODCLIFF. 

who  was  praying,  if  1  did  not  know  the  voice,  I  am  sure. 
What  a  blessing  it  is  that  we  can  both  stand  on  such  a 
broad  platform,  as  to  embrace  all  who  love  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  in  sincerity  and  truth — my  heart  turns  instinctively 
to  all  such  with  a  warm  throb,  and  wherever  I  see  the 
lovely  features  of  the  Master,  I  am  conscious  of  a  love 
above  all  this  earthly  scaffolding." 

"  There  was  much  in  the  spirit  of  the  old  Covenanters  to 
admire  and  revere,  Madeline ;  their  heroic  endurance  and 
patience  placed  them  by  the  side  of  the  noblest  martyrs  • 
and  many  of  them  will,  doubtless,  be  very  near  the  throne 
of  our  dear  Lord  in  that  day,  when  he  gathers  in  his  own 
elect." 

"  For  that  I  love  their  memory,  Roland ;  but  there  was 
much  in  the  spirit  of  their  great  leader,  Oliver  Cromwell, 
that  did  not  seem  to  me  to  accord  with  the  spirit  of 
Christ." 

"  He  lived  in  days  so  different  from  ours  that  we  can 
scarcely  realize  what  qualities  such  times  could  call  forth." 

They  were  seated  by  the  side  of  Lilian's  grave,  and,  with 
hands  clasped,  they  sang 

"Blest  is  the  tie  that  binds 

Our  hearts  in  Christian  love ; 
The  fellowship  of  kindred  minds 
Is  like  to  that  above." 

After  a  few  moments  of  delicious  silence,  Roland  looked 
upward  towards  the  distant  hills. 

"  It  is  growing  late,  dear ;  we  must  not  keep  our  good 
friends  waiting ;"  and  reluctantly  they  turned  away  from 
the  hallowed  spot. 

******* 

Time  sped  too  rapidly;  for  the  intercourse  of  the  congenial 
spirits  which  dwelt  at  Graham  Hall  was  just  such  as  com 
pletely  represented  the  idea  of  domestic  happiness.  Riding 
about  with  Uncle  Malcolm,  interested  in  his  various  schemes 


BEATITUDES.  423 

of  business  or  benevolence,  Roland  was  content ;  and  Mrs. 
Lindsay,  Madeline,  and  Annot  formed  a  happy  trio  around 
the  domestic  fireside. 

The  simplicity  of  the  young  wife  endeared  her  tenderly 
to  good  Mrs.  Lindsay;  for  while  she  daily  gave  Annot  her 
music  lesson,  she  left  no  opportunity  of  gathering  from  Mrs. 
Lindsay's  experience  practical  knowledge  for  her  own 
housekeeping.  With  her  clean,  white  apron,  she  was  often 
seen  by  the  side  of  that  good  lady,  when  making  any  of  her 
nice  dishes,  or  putting  up  the  various  comforts  for  winter 
use.  Many  a  time  did  Roland  peep  in  on  these  occasions, 
smiling  at  the  pretty  figure,  with  sleeves  rolled  up,  and 
dainty  fingers  busily  at  work  with  the  pastry  and  cakes, 
the  pickles  or  jellies  of  good  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

Sometimes  he  would  run  in,  and  whisper  some  words 
which  would  cover  Madeline's  face  with  blushes,  and  she 
would  reply, 

"Send  him  away,  Mrs.  Lindsay;  he  is  growing  to  be 
such  a  flatterer;  he  '11  make  me  vain  and  foolish." 

She  gathered  thus  a  number  of  valuable  recipes  from 
the  kind  hostess,  and  looked  upon  her  visit  to  Graham 
Hall  as  the  most  useful  of  all  since  she  had  left  home. 

"  A  letter  from  Edmund !"  said  Roland,  one  morning,  at 
the  breakfast-table ;  "  he  says  that  he  envies  us  this  visit, 
for  he  never  was  so  happy,  in  all  his  life,  as  when  at  Gra 
ham  Hall ;  there's  something  here  about  our  little  Annot 
that  I  know  she'd  like  to  hear ;"  and  Roland  glanced  mis 
chievously  at  the  blushing  face  of  the  young  girl. 

"  I  dinna  care  onything  about  it,  Roland ;  it's  just  a 
shame  to  tease  me  sae ;"  and  Annot  ran  away  from  the 
table  in  a  hurry  to  attend  to  some  business  that  she  remem 
bered  suddenly. 

When  Roland  had  a  private  opportunity,  he  whispered 
in  her  ear, 

"  Edmund  wonders  if  sweet  Annot  Lindsay  remembers 
the  pleasant  walks  and  rides,  the  quiet  evenings,  and 


424  WOODCLIFF. 

mossy  banks  round  Graham  Hall ;  be  can  never  forget 
them,  he  says,  for  the  linnet  that  sang  those  pretty  Scotch 
songs  so  sweetly  is  ever  haunting  his  path." 

Annot  listened  with  downcast  face,  for  she  was  conscious 
of  remembering  them  quite  as  tenderly. 

"  Do  you  know,  Annot,  that  I  have  obtained  Uncle  Mal 
colm's  consent  to  spare  you  just  one  year  ?  you  are  going 
with  us  to  Woodcliff ;  he  consents,  because  he  thinks  that 
the  journey  will  be  of  great  use  to  you,  Annot;  he  wishes 
you  to  be  one  year  with  my  Madeline." 

"Am  I  really  going!"  and  she  clapped  her  little  hands 
with  delight. 

"I  shall  be  sae  happy;"  then  speedily  changing  counte 
nance,  "but  what  will  Uncle  Malcolm  an'  dear  mother  do 
without  me?  I  fear  that  they  will  be  sae  lonesome." 

A  farewell  visit  to  Aunt  Douglass  and  Elsie  Gibson 
closed  their  sojourn  in  Scotland. 

Pleasant  things  must  have  an  end.  After  a  few  weeks  of 
busy  preparation,  Annot  was  ready ;  and  the  hitherto  happy 
party  were  very  silent  around  the  breakfast-table,  where 
they  met  for  the  last  time. 

The  parting  hour  had  arrived ;  trunks  all  ready,  the  fare 
well  blessing  given,  and  the  last  adieux  silently  exchanged 
from  full  hearts  and  weeping  eyes. 

"  Annot  threw  herself  upon  the  bosom  of  her  mother, 
then  of  dear  Uncle  Malcolm,  with  a  burst  of  feeling ;  and 
was  placed  silently  in  the  carriage  by  the  side  of  Made 
line,  who  folded  the  young  girl  in  her  arms,  and  said, 

"  Be  comforted,  Annot ;  you  are  going  with  those  who 
love  you  dearly." 

"  I  ken  it  a',  Madeline ;  but  I  am  leaving  the  dearest  far 
behind." 

As  they  passed  the  familiar  scenes  of  her  daily  life  she 
still  looked  out  with  weeping  eyes. 

"  Farewell,  dear  Scotland !  how  bonnie  her  dark-brown 
hills  appear  to  me  1" 


BEATITUDES.  425 

x 

A  short  voyage  brought  the  party  to  America,  and,  with 
out  delay,  to  Woodcliff. 

"  There,  Annot,  is  our  dear,  dear  home !"  said  Madeline, 
as  they  drove  up  the  avenue  of  noble  elms. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  spot,  dear !  but  how  different  from  Scot 
land!" 

Aunt  Matilda,  Mr.  Bruce,  and  the  servants  were  all  in 
waiting ;  for  the  long  absence  of  six  months  had  prepared 
the  way  for  a  warm  welcome.  Aunt  Matilda  could  never 
tire  of  looking  at  her  dear  niece,  and  Mr.  Bruce  hung  upon 
the  arm  of  his  son  with  the  same  old  reverential  love,  his 
voice  trembling  with  joyful  emotion. 

"  I  hae  missed  ye  day  and  night,  Roland,  but  I  hae  done 
a'  that  ye  told  me,  an'  a'  is  just  as  ye  wish  it." 

The  novelty  of  the  scenes  around  her  revived  Annot's 
spirits,  and  she  was  soon  the  merry  little  sunbeam  of  the 
house.  Aunt  Matilda  was  delighted  with  the  Highland 
lassie,  and  was  never  better  pleased  than  when  she  could 
draw  her  away  from  all  the  rest,  and  hear  her  tales  about 
Scottish  life,  and  scenery,  and  people ;  the  old  superstitions 
had  their  charm  for  her,  and  many  a  time  Madeline  enjoyed 
a  quiet  laugh  at  the  expense  of  Aunt  Matilda.  As  soon  as 
Edmund  beard  of  the  arrival,  he  hastened  to  Woodcliff; 
but  what  was  his  surprise  to  see  Annot  Lindsay  in 
America !  She  was  no  longer  the  pretty,  innocent  child  of 
fifteen,  with  her  sweet  voice  and  winning  ways,  but  a 
lovely  girl  of  eighteen,  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child  and 
the  deeper  nature  of  a  woman.  She  had  grown  wonder 
fully,  but  was  still  a  little  Highland  maiden  ;  the  same  soft 
eyes  and  ever-changing  color,  the  same  graceful  form  and 
tripping  step,  the  same  luxuriant  flow  of  golden  ringlets 
and  tender,  bewildering  voice.  He  was  completely  taken 
by  surprise.  He  could  not  call  her  Annot  now  —  this 
young  and  charming  woman. 

"  Miss  Lindsay,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  again ;  this  is 
indeed  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  and  Edmund  touched  re- 
36* 


426  WOODCLIFF. 

spectfully  the  hand  so  bashfully  extended,  and,  as  soon  as 
possible,  Annot  sought  the  shelter  of  a  quiet  corner,  where 
she  thought  herself  secure  from  observation.  But  not  so. 
Edmund  was  soon  again  by  her  side,  and  would  take  no 
denial  when  begging  for  some  of  her  sweet  Scotch  songs. 

She  was  an  artless  little  thing,  and,  without  farther  per 
suasion,  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  revived  the  old 
memories  with  her  sweet  voice,  now  so  much  fuller,  deeper, 
richer  than  three  years  ago. 

"  I  ken  some  mair  music,  Mr.  X  orris,"  and  Annot  pro 
ceeded  to  sing  some  of  her  more  fashionable  music. 

"  Let  us  keep  to  the  old  songs,  Miss  Lindsay ;  they  are 
the  sweetest  by  far.'' 

"  What  are  you  about  now,  Edmund?"  said  Roland. 

"  I  am  in  business  just  to  please  my  mother ;  but  I  de 
spise  mercantile  concerns;  I  shall  never  be  a  successful 
merchant." 

"  We  shall  see  you  often  now,  Edmund,  I  suppose,"  said 
Roland,  archly  emphasizing  the  word  now. 

"  I  think  that  is  very  likely,"  dryly  answered  Edmund, 
with  a  significant  smile. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

FELLOW-HEIRS    OP    THE    GRACE    OP    LIFE 

"  THIS  is  a  trial,"  said  Roland ;  "  business  calls  me  to 
New  York,  and  it  will  never  do  for  me  to  be  running  down 
daily  to  Woodcliff;  I  should  be  half  of  my  time  on  the 
road.  In  the  busy  season,  I  shall  have  to  content  myself 
coming  every  other  day,  unless  we  take  boarding  in  the 
city." 

"  Do  you  desire  it,  Roland  ?  your  wishes  shall  guide  me, 
although  I  should  be  sorry  to  leave  dear  Woodcliff;  life  is 
so  very  different  in  that  gay  metropolis." 

"  I  think  that  we  had  better  remain  here  ;  we  will  go  to 
the  city  for  a  few  wreeks  in  the  winter,  that  Annot  may 
see  some  of  the  lions  that  we  have  to  show  her." 

Still  the  child  of  Providence,  Roland  rose  step  by  step, 
until  we  find  him  occupying  posts  of  honor  and  trust,  a 
self-made  man,  such  as  thrive  best  in  America.  Life  was 
very  charming  at  Woodcliff;  but  Madeline  felt  that  it  was 
time  to  furnish  her  young  charge  with  some  useful  pur 
suits,  so  one  morning  after  breakfast  she  summoned  her  to 
her  sitting-room. 

"  Well,  Annot,  now  you  have  run  about  like  a  wild  bird 
f.>r  a  few  weeks,  suppose  that  we  arrange  some  plans  for 
improvement,  dear;  that  is  what  Uncle  Malcolm  wishes, 
you  know." 

"An'  that  is  just  what  I  desire,  Madeline." 

"  I  have  written  to  one  of  the  best  teachers  of  music  in 
Boston,  and,  as  it  is  but  a  few  hours'  ride,  he  can  come 

(427) 


428  WOODCLIFF. 

twice  a  week  to  give  you  lessons,  and  you  will  have  abun 
dant  time  for  practice ;  then  I  am  going  tr  ask  your  help 
in  the  Sunday-school,  and  will  give  you  ten  families  among 
the  factory  people  to  visit." 

"  Thank  ye,  dear  Madeline  ;  1  hae  always  led  a  busy  life, 
and  I  wad  na  be  happy  in  a  state  o'  idleness." 

The  neighborhood  around  Woodcliff  was  rapidly  increas 
ing;  the  factories  had  brought  many  new  families,  both  of 
the  working  classes  and  their  employers ;  and  the  healthy, 
pleasant  climate,  the  vicinity  of  the  sea,  and  the  beauties 
of  fine  scenery,  had'attracted  also  many  summer  residents, 
who  were  building  picturesque  cottages  all  around  in  the 
pleasant  lanes,  on  the  hill-tops,  and  some  nearer  to  the 
sea-shore,  where  there  was  now  a  prospect  of  good  bathing. 
Consequently,  the  Sunday-school  and  the  congregation 
rapidly  multiplied.  Madeline  began  to  think  that  it  was 
time  to  think  about  her  favorite  plan  in  earnest;  there 
must  really  be  a  church  at  Woodcliff. 

It  was  a  very  happy  household  that  dwelt  beneath  its 
roof;  but  there  must  be  something  to  disturb  its  quiet,  for, 
to  Madeline's  surprise,  Lavinia  wrote  to  say  that  Lucy  and 
she  were  coming  on  a  visit  to  Woodcliff.  A  slight  shade 
of  annoyance  passed  over  the  face  of  the  young  lady  as 
she  wondered  what  would  bring  Lavinia,  after  her  conduct 
at  the  time  of  her  marriage ;  but  Madeline  was  a  Christian 
and  a  lady,  and  sent  an  acknowledgment  of  the  letter,  with 
the  information  that  a  room  was.  ready  for  their  reception. 
They  arrived  —  Lavinia,  the  same  vain  and  frivolous  girl; 
Lucy,  the  same-  gentle,  pious  friend.  A  handsome  ward 
robe,  with  every  variety  of  fashionable  folly,  was  intended 
to  impress  Annot  Lindsay,  but  it  failed  signally;  for  it 
simply  excited  her  wonder,  and  offended  her  pure  and  lady 
like  taste.  Remarks  were  never  made  upon  the  subject 
except  by  Lavinia  herself,  and  Annot  generally  contrived 
to  introduce  some  more  profitable  conversation. 

We  will  sit  down  with  the  family  at  a  breakfast  scene. 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OP    THE    GRACE   OF    LIFE.  429 

Always  attired  with  the  neat  simplicity  of  a  lady,  Made 
line  had  not  yet  learned  to  appear  before  her  husband  with 
dishevelled  hair,  untidy  costume,  or  any  neglect  of  ladylike 
habits ;  and  yet  she  was  busier  now  than  when  Aunt 
Matilda  expressed  the  fear  that  such  might  be  the  case ; 
for,  in  her  leisure  moments,  she  still  scribbled  privately  for 
the  news-boys ;  but  she  had  learned  to  live  by  system, 
thanks  to  tHe  master  of  the  family. 

"  Roland,  will  you  want  the  horses  to-day  ?"  asked  the 
wife. 

"  I  think  not';  do  you  wish  to  ride,  Madeline  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  have  a  visit  to  pay ;  I  have  never  returned 
Mrs.  De  Coursey's  call." 

"  I  think  that  I  shall  have  to  refuse  my  wife  the  use  of 
the  horses  to-day." 

Madeline  changed  countenance — to  be  refused !  and  before 
Aunt  Matilda  and  Lavinia,  it  was  really  too  bad.  She 
began  to  tap  her  little  foot  under  the  table,  and  to  play 
impatiently  with  her  spoon. 

"  Why  can  I  not  have  the  horses,  if  you  are  not  going 
to  use  them,  Roland  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  my  wife  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance 
of  Mrs.  De  Coursey;  she  is  not  a  proper  associate  for  a 
pure-minded  lady." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  Mrs.  De  Coursey  ?  for 
my  part,  I  think  that  she  is  charming ;  so  sweet  in  her 
manners,  so  generous  in  her  charities!" 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  her  ride  with  her  husband,  Made 
line  ?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  have,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Have  you  not  seen  her  riding  repeatedly  with  that  infa 
mous  George  Sinclair,  Madeline  ?" 

"  I  think  I  have,  but  he  is  her  cousin  ;  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  she  is 
much  too  free  with  gentlemen  generally." 

"And  so  you  really  refuse  me  the  horses,  Roland?" 


430  WOODCLIPF. 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  about  it  now,  my  love ;  after  break 
fast,  I  will  explain  my  reasons  more  fully." 

Roland  looked  deeply  pained,  Madeline  angry  and  mor 
tified,  Lavinia  Raymond  contemptuous,  and  Aunt  Matilda 
utterly  surprised.  It  was  the  first  ripple  on  the  matrimonial 
surface. 

The  meal  passed  in  silence — husband  and  wife  were  tho 
roughly  uncomfortable.  After  Madeline  had  washed  her 
silver  and  glass,  as  was  her  custom,  she  proceeded,  with  a 
dejected  step,  to  her  favorite  room. 

Roland  followed  —  she  was  sitting  in  silence  before  her 
secretary,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  while  she  could 
not  conceal  the  tears  that  were  stealing  through  her 
fingers. 

"  My  dearest  wife,"  said  the  young  man,  "  have  I  pained 
you  ?"  and  he  seated  himself  by  her,  winding  his  arm  around 
her  waist,  and  kissing  away  the  tears,  as  they  fell  drop  by 
drop  from  her  eyes. 

She  did  not  answer ;  conscience  was  busily  at  work,  for 
she  felt  that  she  had  been  wrong. 

"Can  you  not  trust  me,  love?  would  I  refuse  you  any 
thing  which  I  know  was  for  your  real  good  ?  but  when  the 
honor  of  my  pure  and  noble  wife  is  concerned,  then  I  must 
be  the  husband,  Madeline.  Do  you  know  that  Mrs.  De 
Coursey  is  not  visited,  even  in  New  York,  by  any  of  the 
really  pure  and  good  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  Roland,  but  I  wish  that  you  had 
refused  me  when  alone  ;  it  was  so  mortifying  to  be  treated 

just  like  a child !"  and  she  sobbed  out  the  latter  word, 

and  threw  herself  upon  his  bosom;  "and  then  to  see  the 
look  of  triumph  and  contempt  in  Lavinia's  face,  and  sur 
prise  and  pain  on  Aunt  Matilda's." 

"  What  need  you  care,  my  love,  for  the  opinions  of  the 
world,  if  you  only  know  that  you  are  right  ?  It  is  right  to 
avoid  the  society  of  the  impure,  and  it  is  right  to  be  guided 
by  your  husband — is  it  not,  dear?'' 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OF    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  431 

Madeline  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  Roland's  noble  face, 
so  full  of  sorrow,  and  tender  feeling.  He  had  fully  con 
quered  ;  and  she  wound  her  arms  around  his  neck,  as  she 
whispered, 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  Roland,  you  are  always  right — this  is 
just  some  of  the  leaven  of  my  old  hateful  pride." 

"And  you  the  same  sweet,  ingenuous  wife — do  you  think 
that  I  will  ever  allow  any  thing  to  approach  you,  Made 
line,  that  can  even  breathe  upon  your  reputation,  or  your 
happiness  ?  now,  darling  —  be  comforted  ;''  and  he  kissed 
again  and  again  the  half-smiling,  tearful  face. 

Madeline  began  to  laugh,  a  little  hysterically,  at  first,  but 
at  last  the  showers  passed  away,  and  she  was  herself 
again. 

Opening  her  secretary,  she  took  out  a  draft  of  a  church, 
which  she  had  brought  from  England,  a  copy  of  the  pretty 
Gothic  building  at  Parkhurst. 

"  I  want  to  ask  your  advice,  Roland,  about  this  church ; 
you  won't  refuse  me  dear,  will  you?'' 

"  It  is  very  pretty,  Madeline ;  but  I  think  that  we  must 
have  something  added  that  is  a  little  more  useful." 

"0,  yes!  it  wants  a  Sunday-school  —  we  cannot  have 
that  in  a  building  like  this,  without  spoiling  the  propor 
tions." 

"  We  can  have  a  building  by  itself  of  the  same  style, 
and  then,  you  know,  that  there  must  be  a  parsonage." 

"  Yes,  that  is  fixed  —  no  church  without  a  house  for  the 
minister ;  I  think  the  time  has  come  to  set  about  building 
— but  it  will  cost  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"  I  will  give  a  thousand,  Madeline,  out  of  my  own  means 
— I  mean  from  my  practice." 

"  Can  we  not  give  two  thousand,  Roland?" 

"  I  think  so,  but  we  must  be  careful,  dear,  not  to  go  be 
yond  our  ability,  though  our  means  are  abundant ;  now, 
darling,  come  sit  by  me  a  moment,"  and  Roland  drew  the 
young  wife  by  his  side  upon  the  sofa,  while  he  said  softly, 


432  WOODCLIFP. 

"  Do  you  not  sometimes  regret  your  loss  of  liberty,  Ma 
deline?  just  tell  me,  darling,  truly." 

"  Never,  Roland,  in  the  depths  of  my  heart  —  there  may 
he  ripples  of  the  old  pride  disturbing  the  surface  of  my 
happiness ;  but  the  quiet  ocean  of  love  cannot  be  ruffled  by 
these  little  passing  winds,"  and  she  kissed  her  husband 
fondly ;  then  rising  said,  "  wait  a  minute,  I  must  get  my 
bonnet  and  mantle,  for  I  have  some  purchases  to  make  to 
day." 

Returning  soon,  every  trace  of  sadness  had  vanished, 
and  with  the  old  arch  look  of  mischief  in  her  face,  she 
entered  saying,  with  a  mock  reverence  of  profound  obei 
sance, 

" '  Most  potent,  grave  and  reverend  signior  ! 
My  very  noble  and  approved  good  master,' 
If  I  have  in  aught  offended  your  lordship, 
I  most  humbly  beg  your  gracious  pardon  — 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending  is  in  this ; 
That  wilful  woman  like,  I,  like  a  fractious  child, 
Have  sought  to  have  my  way,  and  not  my  lord's. 
But  now  I  lay  derwn  the  weapons  of  my  rebellion, 
And  Desdemona-like,  bow  to  my  lord  Othello, 
And  say  just  love  me  well,  my  lord,  and  I  am  happy." 

and  as  she  concluded,  placing  her  hand  gracefully  upon  her 
heart,  she  made  another  mocking  obeisance  ;  the  long,  droop 
ing  eyelashes  hiding  the  gleams  of  mischief  that  lurked 
in  ambush.  While  she  spoke  these  words  with  such  a 
winning  grace,  Roland  looked  and  listened  with  admiring 
gaze.  It  was  the  bewitching  child  of  the  sea-shore,  and 
the  wild  woods  yet,  that  stood  before  him,  with  her  bright 
look  of  mischief  gleaming  from  her  deep  blue  eyes,  and 
dimpling  her  expressive  mouth.  He  kissed  the  glowing 
cheek  with  fondest  love,  as  he  replied, 

"Well  done!  my  love,  where  did  you  get  that  fine 
speech  ?" 

"An  imitation  of  Shakspeare,  my  lord ;  I   was  just  seized 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OF    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  433 

with   a  fit  of  mischief,  and  thought  that  I  would  be  sweet 
Desdemona — have  I  succeeded,  Roland  ?" 

"Admirably  —  now,  what  have  you  to  ask,  my  darling? 
I  know  that  there  must  be  something  behind  this  pretty 
acting." 

"  Why,  just  this  —  to  show  that  we  are  all  right  again, 
just  take  me  this  morning  to  the  store,  and  this  evening  to 
the  hill  above  Glendale  ;  I  want  to  show  you  a  fine  site  for 
our  church." 

"  My  plans  were  all  different  for  to-day ;  but  you  must 
carry  me  where  you  please,  Desdemona." 

"  That's  noble,  my  lord  Othello  ;  now  as  soon  as  you  can 
get  the  carriage,  I  am  ready." 

In  a  little  while  the  carriage  drove  up,  and  Lavinia  was 
utterly  surprised  to  see  Madeline,  with  beaming  eyes  and 
glowing  cheek,  handed  in  by  her  husband. 

Kissing  her  hand  to  those  on  the  piazza,  she  drove  off  in 
high  spirits,  and  Lavinia  said, 

"  Madeline  lets  that  man  lead  her  just  where  he  pleases; 
I  am  astonished  that  a  girl  of  her  spirit  should  be  so  tame 
— refuse  her  own  horses  !  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  that 
could  do  that  by  me." 

"  It  is  mutual  leading,  Lavinia,"  replied  Lucy.  "  I  never 
saw  a  more  perfect  union." 

They  rode  happily  along,  their  intercourse  the  dearer 
for  the  gentle  agitation  that  had  disturbed  it — but  let  young 
married  persons  be.ware  that  they  stir  not  these  ripples  too 
often,  for  they  may  raise  tempests  at  last. 

Lengthening  their  ride,  they  remained  away  for  two 
hours,  and  Madeline  was  happy  in  having  her  husband  at 
home  all  day.  After  an  early  tea,  another  pleasant  ride 
to  Glendale,  closed  the  day. 

Arrived  at  the  spot,  Madeline  led  her  husband  to  the  top 
of  a  hill,  commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  whole  country. 
On  the  brow  of  this  eminence  stood  a  grove  of  fine  old 
forest  trees,  that  looked  as  if  they  had  grown  there  on  pur- 


434  WOODOLIFF. 

pose  to  shade  the  pretty  church ;  on  the  slope  of  the  hill, 
facing  the  south,  was  an  extensive  lawn  descending  gra 
dually  to  a  babbling  stream,  bordered  on  either  side  by 
wild  shrubbery,  and  fine  old  trees,  dipping  their  branches 
into  the  winding  creek ;  pretty  vines  hung  in  graceful  fes 
toons  among  the  branches,  forming  charming  resting-places 
for  the  strollers  on  the  banks  of  this  rural  stream. 

To  the  left  was  one  broad  rolling  hill,  rising  in  gentle 
swells,  until  it  was  lost  in  the  distant  outlines  of  misty 
blue  hills. 

This  one  eminence  was  partly  covered  with  fine  forest 
trees,  crowning  it  to  the  very  top  ;  and  on  the  slopes  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  were  pretty  rural  cottages,  surrounded  by 
shade  trees,  cultivated  fields,  and  thick  clumps  of  woods. 
From  one  broad  opening,  peeps  out  the  dearest  little  minia 
ture  home,  so  like  a  bird's  nest  of  love ;  as  far  as  eye 
could  reach,  for  miles  the  country  was  one  beautiful  garden 
of  gentle  hills  and  dales,  and  extensive  woodlands  ;  adding 
the  picturesque  feature  of  a  dark  stone  bridge  over  a  neigh 
boring  stream.  The  whole  landscape  was  dotted  with  fine 
farms,  gentlemen's  country-seats,  and  quiet  rural  homes; 
and  bounding  this  whole  charming  picture,  on  every  side, 
were  ranges  of  low  hills,  fading  away  in  the  distance  in 
tints  of  misty  blue. 

Viewed  at  sunset,  it  was  a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten 
—  the  whole  landscape  was  flooded  in  a  halo  of  glory;  the 
deep  crimson  of  the  setting  sun  illumined  the  sky,  and 
hung  his  veil  of  splendor  over  every  hill ;  gradually  it 
changed  to  deeper  hues,  then  to  rich  purple  and  gold,  ting 
ing  the  trees  with  the  reflected  glow  of  sunlight ;  slowly 
the  hues  faded,  until  the  landscape  was  enveloped  in  the 
sombre  drapery  of  solemn  evening. 

"What  a  place  for  thought  and  study,  Roland!  This 
must  be  the  site  for  our  church  ;  we  will  call  it  Calvary ;  it 
shall  be  Gothic,  with  a  Sunday-school,  and  parsonage  to 
correspond;  we  must  have  a  good  minister;  I  have  set  my 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OP    THE    GRACE    OP    LIFE.  435 

heart  on  George  Stanley,  he  has  been  just  ordained ;  write 
to  him,  Roland ;  he  might  as  well  come  down  at  once ;  and 
if  he  becomes  interested,  he  can  help  us  to  collect  the  funds, 
for  it  will  cost  a  large  sum  of  money.  The  house  must  be 
Glendale  Parsonage,  and  I  think  Helen  will  be  the  lady; 
don't  you,  Roland?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it;  they  are  constantly  engaged  in 
the  same  good  works,  and  seem  just  suited  to  each  other; 
he  so  strong  and  self-reliant,  she  so  gentle  and  dependent." 

Madeline  had  passed  a  happy  day ;  and,  on  their  return, 
Lavinia  and  Lucy  were  walking  on  the  piazza.  There  was 
something  so  tender  in  the  manner  of  the  young  husband, 
as  he  lifted  her  from  the  carriage,  and  so  confiding  in  the 
deep  blue  eyes  of  the  wife,  that  Lavinia  was  full  of 
wonder. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  the  honeymoon  will  last,"  said  La 
vinia,  as  she  observed  the  perfect  reconciliation  of  the  mar 
ried  pair. 

"  I  think  for  life,  Lavinia,"  was  Lucy's  reply ;  "  there  are 
depths  of  love  and  earnest  piety  in  both  characters ;  and 
such  links  are  not  easily  broken." 

"  For  my  part,  I  don't  believe  in  such  romantic  notions, 
Lucy ;  give  me  a  handsome  house  and  carriage,  plenty  of 
servants,  and  a  long  purse  of  money,  with  a  comfortable, 
easy  husband,  who  will  let  me  take  my  path,  and  he  choose 
his,  and  that  is  all  that  I  care  for." 

Madeline  and  her  husband,  seated  in  the  library,  were 
looking  over  some  accounts  connected  with  their  charities  ; 
and,  after  an  hour  devoted  to  business,  she  took  her  seat 
on  a  low  ottoman  at  Roland's  feet;  and  leaning  her  head 
upon  his  knee,  occasionally  she  looked  up  in  his  face,  with 
the  true  love  of  a  wife  shining  in  her  expressive  eyes,  while 
he  laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  the  soft  brown  hair. 

"  We  are  very  happy,  Roland,"  said  the  young  wife,  "  and 
sometimes  when  I  read  of  the  discipline  of  God's  children, 


436  wooDCLirF. 

I  tremble  lest  it  should  be  necessary  to  visit  our  nest  of 
love." 

"  We  must  never  forget,  my  wife,  that  we  are  but  pil 
grims,  seeking  another,  that  is,  a  heavenly  co.untry ;  let  our 
great  object  be  to  glorify  God,  to  love  him  supremely,  and 
then  we  can  trust  him  with  all  our  future.  Looking  aloft  1 
dear,  always,  through  joy  and  through  sorrow,  that  is  the 
way  to  happiness  and  peace." 

"  How  different,  Roland,  is  the  bond  that  unites  us,  from 
the  cold  and  selfish  world !  no  wonder  that  there  are  so 
many  wretched  marriages,  when  so  few  are  founded  upon 
the  holy  principles  of  the  Gospel.  Ah,  how  many,  when 
days  of  indifference  and  neglect  overtake  them,  sigh  for  a , 
love  that  never  existed !" 

"  If  people  would  only  study  the  epistles  of  the  disciple 
whom  Jesus  loved,  and  form  their  heart  unions  from  such 
high  and  holy  sources,  how  different  would  be  the  loves 
and  friendships  of  poor  humanity !" 

And  thus  holy  was  the  heart  communion  of  this  true 
union. 

"  Do  not  forget,  Roland,  to  write  to  Stanley  to-morrow, 
and  bring  him  down  with  you  next  week  to  see  the  field  of 
labor ;  it  will  be  such  a  privilege  to  have  a  church  of  our 
own." 

"  Now,  dear,  it  is  time  for  worship ;"  and  Roland  rang 
the  bell  which  summoned  his  family  to  the  library. 

While  he  reverently  read  and  expounded  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  all  listened  with  deep  seriousness;  Madeline 
always  conducted  the  singing;  and  guests  and  servants 
felt  the  value  of  that  banner  of  security  thus  daily  spread 
over  the  family  circle  at  Woodcliff.  Even  Lavinia  was 
obliged,  much  against  her  will,  to  pay  the  homage  of  deep 
respect  to  the  character  of  Roland  Bruce. 

The  Eolian  discoursed  sweet  music  on  that  calm  even 
ing,  as,  arm  in  arm,  Roland  and  Madeline  stood  near  the 
open  window 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OF    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  437 

Edmund's  visits  to  Woodcliff  were  much  more  frequent ; 
a  piece  of  music  for  Annot,  an  hour's  private  talk  with  Ro 
land,  or  a  book  for  Madeline,  all  served  as  so  many  pleas 
for  weekly  visits ;  until,  at  last,  Edmund  was  always  ex 
pected  on  Saturday  night,  to  return  with  Roland,  on  Mon 
day,  to  the  city. 

Tired  of  the  frivolity  of  fashionable  life,  his  heart  turned 
with  delight  to  the  home-circle  of  his  friend,  and  he  often 
wondered  if  he  should  ever  be  blessed  with  such  a  happy 
household. 

Annot  had  learned  to  listen  for  his  footstep,  and  to  blush 
when  his  hand  was  upon  the  door-knob  ;  always  ready 
with  some  new  music,  or  a  plate  of  especially  choice  fruit. 
Edmund  gradually  found  that  the  lovely  Scotch  lassie 
was  necessary  to  his  happiness;  and  the  heads  of  the 
family  did  not  discourage  the  intimacy,  for  Roland  knew 
his  worth  ;  had  watched  his  progress,  and  saw  the  gleams 
of  spiritual  life  as  they  developed  themselves  in  his  young 
protege. 

Therefore,  when  Edmund  invited  Annot  to  a  walk  on 
the  piazza,  to  a  ramble  on  the  sea-shore,  or  by  the  placid 
lake,  to  an  evening  ride  in  the  quiet  lanes,  there  was  no 
opposition  ;  it  rather  pleased  both  husband  and  wife  to  see 
the  dawn  of  a  virtuous  attachment,  so  elevating  to  the 
character  of  a  young  man. 

Lavinia  brought  her  visit  to  a  close,  for  the  tranquil 
pleasures  and  useful  pursuits  at  Woodcliff  did  not  suit  the 
worldly  tastes  of  her  vitiated  heart. 

Stanley  and  Helen  accompanied  Roland  on  his  next 
Saturday's  return. 

A  long  talk  in  the  library  between  Roland  and  his  friend 
about  the  parish  seemed  to  have  ended  harmoniously ;  for 
after  an  early  tea,  the  four  took  a  ride  to  Glendale,  for  it 
was  but  a  mile  from  Woodcliff. 

Stanley  was  enraptured  with  the  beautiful  view  from  the 
hill-top,  and  Helen  more  quietly  enjoyed  the  scene. 
37* 


433  WOODCLIFF. 

"  There,  Mr.  Stanley,  will  be  a  part  of  your  parish,"  said 
Madeline,  as  she  pointed  to  the  numerous  pleasant  homes 
scattered  in  all  directions  from  one  to  five  or  six  miles  dis 
tant;  "many  of  these  people  go  nowhere  to  church,  and 
if  we  should  plant  one  in  their  midst,  I  doubt  not  that  we 
could  soon  raise  a  prosperous  congregation  ;  the  good  Bishop 
of  our  Diocese  is  very  anxious  for  such  an  effort,  for  bis 
family  have  a  summer-cottage  here ;  we  have  already  about 
one  hundred  in  regular  attendance,  and  large  numbers  of  sum 
mer  residents  could  worship  with  us — we  have  a  prosper 
ous  Sunday-school  with  twelve  teachers,  and  a  Parish 
school  under  the  care  of  an  excellent  young  person,  Susan 
Grant." 

Stanley  listened  with  deep  interest 

"  The  call  seems  inviting,  Mrs.  Bruce,  and  nothing  would 
please  me  more  than  a  home  amidst  just  such  a  people  ; 
what  do  you  say,  Helen  ?" 

At  this  direct  and  sudden  appeal  she  blushed  deeply  — 
for,  as  yet,  only  surmise  had  connected  the  two  names. 

"  I  think  that  it  would  suit  you  exactly,  Mr.  Stanley ; 
this  quiet,  shady  hill,  looks  so  inviting  to  thought  and 
study." 

Madeline  could  not  resist  the  temptation  as  she  whis 
pered, 

"And  you,  dear  Helen,  for  the  pastor's  good  little  wife." 

The  sweet  face  was  suffused  with  blushes,  as  she  replied, 

"  Would  you  advise  it,  Madeline  ?'' 

"  By  all  means,  my  dear  girl ;  Stanley  is  the  very  com 
panion  for  you,  my  little  lily." 

This  was  all  side-talk,  while  the  gentlemen  were  engaged 
in  conversation  of  a  more  practical  character. 

The  end  of  the  conference  was  that  Stanley  should  enter 
at  once  upon  his  labors,  and  that  active  measures  should 
be  taken  without  delay  towards  the  erection  of  a  church. 
He  preached  on  Sunday  to  quite  a  large  congregation  ;  and 
the  manly,  earnest  character  of  his  sermon,  so  full  of  the 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OF    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  439 

unction  of  a  pure  gospel,  made  a  deep  impression  ;  Roland 
heard  many  saying  as  they  left  the  school-room, 

"I  wish  that  we  could  have  him  for  our  minister." 

Stanley  soon  came  among  them  as  their  own  pastor,  and 
until  his  own  home  was  ready  he  took  up  his  abode  at 
Woodcliff.  The  church  was  quickly  planned,  an  architect 
and  builders  upon  the  spot,  and  under  the  energetic  perse 
verance  of  Roland  and  Stanley,  it  went  forward  rapidly. 

Daily  did  the  character  of  Stephen  Bruce's  piety  deepen ; 
his  mind  would  probably  never  regain  its  tone,  for  it  had 
been  shattered  too  long  and  powerfully  for  perfect  restora 
tion.  He  was  very  busy  in  riding  daily  to  the  church ;  for 
although  of  another  sect,  he  was  interested  in  all  of  Ro 
land's  plans,  and  reported  daily  progress,  with  all  the  sim 
ple-hearted  pleasure  of  a  child. 

Susan  Grant,  the  little  girl  for  whom  Roland  stood  as 
the  youthful  champion,  was  now  an  excellent  young  woman, 
and  had  charge  of  the  parish  school,  while  Philip  acted  as 
librarian  for  the  reading-room ;  and  the  affectionate  daugh 
ter  had  actually  lightened  her  dear  mother's  cares,  and 
brightened  her  happy  home,  not,  however,  by  gathering 
diamonds,  but  by  scattering  seeds  of  knowledge.  Novem 
ber  was  now  approaching,  and  Madeline  remembered  her 
promise  to  Annot,  that  she  should  visit  the  city  for  a  few 
weeks ;  accordingly,  the  three  took  up  their  abode  at  one 
of  the  best  hotels.  Yisiting  all  the  celebrated  places  in  and 
around  New  York,  Annot  was  pleased  for  awhile,  but  her 
chief  delight  was  in  the  happy  evenings  that  she  and  Ed 
mund  could  now  spend  together. 

At  the  end  of  six  weeks,  Annot  came  to  Madeline  with 
a  pleading  look  upon  her  face — "  Shall  we  return  to  Wood- 
cliff,  dear?" 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  make  the  request,  Annot,  for  I 
must  be  there  by  Christmas ;  and  so  you  have  seen  enough 
of  this  great  city,  my  dear,  and  love  the  quiet  of  the  coun 
try  yet?" 


440  WOODCLIFF. 

"  Luve  it,  Madeline !  I  dinna  ken  how  I  could  e'er  be 
happy  in  a  great  city.  Sic  a  bustle,  an'  sic  a  round  o'  folly, 
I  ne'er  could  endure." 

"And  what,  then,  will  you  and  Edmund  do  ?  You  know 
his  business  is  in  New  York." 

Annot  hung  her  pretty  head,  and  blushed  as  she  replied, 

"  There  is  nae  positive  bond  between  us,  Madeline." 

"  Not  that  of  devoted  hearts,  Annot  ?" 

"  I  did  na  say  that  exactly ;  but  it  wud  na  be  right  to 
make  an  engagement  o'  that  sort  without  Uncle  Malcolm 
an'  dear  mother's  consent.'' 

"  Have  you  ever  written  to  them,  dear,  upon  the  sub 
ject?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Madeline !  I  ne'er  hae  ony  secrets  frae  them  ; 
they  want  us  baith  to  wait  until  Edmund  sees  Uncle  Mal 
colm.  I  hae  been  here  noo  quite  a  year.  I  canna  gae 
harae  alone.  In  the  spring,  Mrs.  Norris,  Jessie,  an'  Ed 
mund,  are  all  going  to  Europe,  an'  I  shall  accompany 
them." 

"  You  have  every  prospect  of  happiness  with  Edmund 
Norris,  but  I  don't  know  what  Uncle  Malcolm  will  say 
about  parting  with  his  darling  niece." 

"  Is  it  na  strange,  Madeline,  that  I  could  feel  willing  to 
leave  dear  Uncle  Malcolm,  the  guid  friend  o'  a  lifetime,  an' 
my  precious  mother,  who  has  luved  me  sae  fondly,  to  come 
awa'  wi'  a  stranger,  that  I  hae  only  kenned  intimately  for 
one  year  ?  and  yet  I  am  willing ;  I  could  go  ony  where  wi' 
Edmund,  to  the  north  or  south  pole.  Does  it  na  seem 
amaist  a  shame,  Madeline,  to  say  sae  ?"  and  Annot  blushed 
rosy  red,  as  she  hung  her  head  down  bashfully. 

"  I  know  all  about  that,  Annot — it  is  not  strange,  dear, 
for  does  not  the  Bible  say,  that  a  '  man  shall  leave  his  father 
and  mother,  and  cleave  to  his  wife,  and  they  twain  shall  be 
one  flesh  ?'  and  it  is  just  the  same  with  the  wife ;  so  don't 
distress  yourself,  little  dear;  it  is  the  ordering  of  our 
Father." 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OP    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  441 

Christmas  Eve  at  Woodcliff — what  a  bright,  happy  time ! 
The  parlors,  library,  dining  and  sitting  rooms,  are  all  dressed 
with  evergreens,  winter  flowers  and  vases,  in  which  the 
Scotch  heather  lifts  its  pretty  purple  flowers  among  brighter 
blossoms ;  and  a  table  with  a  large  white  cover  stands  in 
the  middle  of  the  library,  which  has  been  most  carefully 
locked  for  the  last  week. 

In  the  back  parlor  stands  a  Christmas  tree  (on  the  top 
of  which  rests  the  Christmas  angel),  hung  with  numberless 
little  gifts,  and  decorated  with  red  holly  berries,  lady-ap 
ples,  colored  glass  globes,  and  a  profusion  of  variegated 
wax  candles. 

On  a  small  table  are  spread  piles  of  fancy  covered  books. 

This  has  been  the  work  of  Madeline  and  Annot  since 
their  return  from  New  York ;  interesting  several  families 
in  the  neighborhood,  they  have  gathered  together  a  large 
quantity  of  presents  for  the  children  of  the  Sunday-school. 

They  are  determined  to  have  a  happy  Christmas  at  Wood- 
cliff.  Early  in  the  evening,  the  rooms  are  lit,  and  the  ladies 
dressed.  Madeline,  in  Roland's  favorite  brown  silk,  with 
lace  collar,  and  sleeves,  with  no  ornaments  save  a  branch 
of  ivy  leaves  and  scarlet  berries  in  her  hair,  and  a  hand 
some  carbuncle  set,  that  her  husband  had  presented  — 
Annot,  in  a  pale  blue  dress,  with  a  delicate  lace  frill  around 
the  neck  and  sleeves,  and  a  few  white  camelias  in  her 
golden  ringlets,  that  hung  so  gracefully  around  her  shoulders. 

Standing  in  eager  expectation  near  the  window,  they 
listened  for  the  approach  of  their  guests. 

"  I  hear  the  carriage,"  said  Madeline,  for  it  had  been  sent 
to  the  station  to  bring  the  expected  company. 

Hastening  out  to  the  piazza,  she  welcomed  her  friends ; 
Roland  had  brought  out  Edmund,  with  his  mother  and 
sister,  and  Helen  Thornly.  •'.  '•; 

"  Well,  this  is  beautiful,  indeed !"  said  Roland,  as  he 
glanced  around  at  the  preparations.  "  I  think  we  Scotch 
people  lose  a  great  deal  in  not  making  more  of  this  joyous 


442  WOODCLIFP. 

season ;  but  really,  Madeline,  have  not  the  fairies  been  at 
work  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  neither  fairies  nor  angels  have  had  anything 
to  do  with  it,  not  even  Santa  Glaus ;  human  hands  planned 
all." 

"I  know  better,  darling,"  whispered  Roland;  "  a  house 
hold  angel  has  gathered  these  lovely  flowers,  and  lit  up 
this  bright  festival ;  my  household  angel,  Madeline." 

The  ladies  were  soon  disrobed,  and  ready  to  join  the 
cheerful  party  in  the  dining-room,  where  a  genuine  Christ 
mas  dinner  was  prepared.  After  they  had  done  full  justice 
to  the  viands,  Roland  exclaimed,  smiling, 

"And  what  is  to  be  done  with  this  Christmas  tree  ?  are 
we  going  back  to  the  days  of  childhood,  Madeline  ?" 

"  You'll  see  after  a  while,"  was  the  arch  reply,  as  the 
folding  doors  were  closed  between  the  rooms. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  tramp  of  little  feet  on  the  piazza, 
and  the  buzz  of  children's  voices,  announced  an  arrival  — 
ere  they  entered,  the  children,  under  the  guidance  of  Philip 
and  Susan  Grant,  sang  a  sweet  Christmas  carol. 

They  were  then  admitted  into  the  front  parlor,  and 
strange  to  behold  were  the  large  staring  eyes,  and  open 
mouths  of  the  wondering  children,  who  had  never  seen 
such  grandeur  before ! 

A  sweet  Christmas  hymn,  sung  by  ladies'  voices,  was 
heard  in  the  room  beyond,  and  when  the  door  suddenly 
opened,  and  the  sight  of  the  splendid  tree,  illuminated  from 
top  to  bottom,  burst  upon  them,  they  could  no  longer  re 
strain  their  expressions  of  delight.  The  girls  clapped  their 
hands,  and  the  boys  stamped  their  feet,  as  they  exclaimed, 

"  Oh  !  goody  gracious !  I  never  saw  anything  like  that !" 

"  Just  see  the  heap  of  apples !"  said  one  little  girl. 

"  Just  look  at  that  pretty  doll !"  said  another. 

"  Look  at  them  ere  glass  things !  I  wonder  what  they 
are." 

"  There's  a  gun  1"  said  a  boy. 


*  FELLOW-HEIUS    OP    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  443 

"And  there's  a  top !"  said  another;  "  and  such  a  heap  of 
things !" 

"And  there's  a  whole  pile  of  books !"  said  another. 

"Look  at  the  bags  of  sugar-plums!"  said  a  fat  little 
urchin.  "Hurrah  for  the  sugar-plums!"  and  the  little 
fellow  turned  a  summerset,  and  rolled  over  and  over  on 
the  floor. 

After  considerable  trouble,  they  were  all  reduced  to 
order,  and  Roland  held  a  hat,  and  gave  each  child  a  card 
with  a  number  on  it.  Madeline  took  her  stand  by  the 
tree ;  one  by  one  she  took  down  the  gifts,  and,  calling  out 
the  number,  each  happy  child  came  forward  to  receive  the 
present.  Each  child  had  also  a  bag  of  sugar-plums  and  a 
book  to  take  home,  and  a  large  slice  of  Christmas  cake  for 
present  enjoyment. 

"  Now,  dear  children,"  said  Madeline,  "  we  sent  for  you 
this  morning  to  wish  you  all  a  happy  Christmas.  This  is 
the  dear  Saviour's  birthday,  when  he  came  down  to  make 
children  happy.  He  gave  a  Christmas  gift  to  all,  and  that 
was  himself.  Now,  because  he  was  so  full  of  love,  the 
people  who  love  Jesus  want  to  do  something  like  him, 
and  so  they  give  presents  to  their  friends  to  show  their 
love ;  each  little  gift  that  you  have  in  your  hands,  my  little 
ones,  is  a  gift  of  love.  Now,  if  any  of  you  have  a  sick 
brother  or  sister,  or  little  friend,  who  could  not  come  to 
day,  don't  eat  all  your  sugar-plums  or  cake,  but  save  some 
for  them  to  show  that  you  love  them.  The  night  that 
Jesus  was  born,  the  angels  sang  in  the  clouds  over  the 
plains  of  Judea ;  now  let  us  sing  our  Christmas  hymn," 
and  Annot  played,  while  Madeline  led  the  singing,  in 
which  all  joined. 

"While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night, 

All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down, 
And  glory  shone  around,"  &c. 


444  WOODCLIFF. 

It  was  a  happy  company  that  hurried  home  that  night 
through  the  sharp,  frosty  air,  to  tell  about  the  wonderful 
tree,  and  the  beautiful  things  at  Woodcliff. 

Which  was  the  happier  ?  the  little  children,  as  they  went 
home  with  their  pretty  gifts,  or  the  young  mistress  of 
Woodcliff,  who  hung  the  Christmas  tree  to  make  them 
happy  ? 

"And  now  for  Blue  Beard's  room,"  said  Madeline,  as 
she  led  the  way  to  the  library  and  unlocked  the  door. 

A  bell  summoned  the  household  ;  and  as  she  uncovered 
the  table  with  a  bright,  beaming  face,  Roland  looked  upon 
his  young  wife,  and  felt  that  he  was  indeed  a  proud  and 
happy  man. 

"  Now  first,  my  lord  and  master,  as  a  true  and  loyal 
wife,"  and  Madeline  spread  out  a  beautiful  wrapper  made 
by  her  own  hands,  and,  putting  it  on  her  husband,  said  — 
"  Why  it  fits  beautifully !  it  suits  the  library  exactly ;  and 
here  's  a  pair  of  the  prettiest  slippers,  worked  by  Annot, 
and  a  cap  and  scarf  for  winter  nights  in  the  cars,  by  Aunt 
Matilda.  Now  aren't  you  a  rich  man,  sir?  make  your 
prettiest  bow  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  sir." 

As  Roland  obeyed  the  command  in  the  most  graceful 
manner,  he  whispered  words  that  made  Madeline's  cheeks 
glow  with  innocent  pleasure. 

"A  rich  man,  dearest!  I  do  not  envy  the  richest  man 
in  Christendom,  Madeline." 

"  What  did  he  say,  Madeline  ?"  said  Edmund ;  "  there 
must  be  none  but  public  speeches  to-night."  • 

"  Just  a  little  sweet  flattery,  Edmund ;  let  me  enjoy  it," 
and  she  threw  her  head  slightly  back,  smiling  archly  on  the 
speaker. 

Mr.  Bruce  was  particularly  pleased  with  his  nice  wrap 
per  from  Madeline,  and  beautiful  Bible  with  fine  large  print, 
and  gold  spectacles,  from  Roland ;  Aunt  Matilda  with  her 
handsome  breastpin  from  Madeline,  and  pretty  watch  from 
Roland. 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OP    THE    GRACE    OP    LIFE.  445 

"Here's  my  offering,  Madeline,"  said  her  husband,  as  be 
opened  a  small  case,  and  produced  an  elegant  watch  arid 
chatelaines;  "your  old  watch  is  not  so  good  as  formerly, 
dear,  and  I  have  got  the  very  best  that  New  York  could 
afford." 

Madeline  looked  a  world  of  thanks.  Lastly,  came  the 
servants,  who,  one  by  one,  advanced  to  receive  their  gifts 
from  the  hands  of  their  beloved  young  mistress. 

Aunt  Matilda  was  rapidly  losing  her  prejudices  against 
Roland ;  but,  not  willing  to  allow  herself  conquered,  she 
attributed  her  change  of  manner  to  the  conviction  that  he 
really  was  of  gentle  birth  at  last.  Without  her  consent, 
he  was  gaining  daily  complete  ascendency  even  over  her 
pride,  yet  she  often  wondered  whether  he  were  not  more 
than  he  pretended.  One  evening,  seated  together  in  the 
familiarity  of  family  intercourse,  Aunt  Matilda  turned  sud 
denly  to  Roland,  and  said — 

"Are  you  sure,  Roland,  that  you  are  not  distantly  con 
nected  with  the  ancient  Bruce  ?  I  have  often  thought  you 
must  be  ;  for  you  certainly  could  not  have  got  your  carriage 
and  manners  from  the  common  classes.  Bruce  and  Gordon 
are  grand_  names ;  I  think  that  you  must  have  had  noble 
relatives  in  some  of  the  branches/' 

Roland  smiled,  as  he  replied — 

"  Can  you  not  believe,  Aunt  Matilda,  that  God  can 
choose  a  vessel  of  common  clay,  and,  by  his  grace,  endow 
it  with  high  qualities,  if  he  pleases  ?  or  must  all  your  ideal 
great  men  be  of  the  purest  porcelain  ?" 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking,  Roland,  that  there  must  have 
been  some  porcelain  among  them,  even  though  you  may 
not  know  it,  or  care  for  it  if  you  do." 

"  All  I  can  boast,  Aunt  Matilda,  in  the  way  of  pedigree, 
is  that  my  ancestors,  as  far  back  as  I  can  trace  them,  were 
a  hardy  race  of  plain  Scotch  farmers,  shepherds,  and  mount 
aineers,  among  whom  were  always  found  faithful,  earnest 
ministers  of  the  Lord  Jesus ;  their  greatness  consisting 
38 


446  WOODCLIFF. 

only  in  heroic  deeds  of  calm  and  patient  endurance  in  the 
cause  of  truth  and  holiness." 

Madeline  smiled  archly,  as  she  asked — 
"Aunty,  what  great  deeds  have  the  noble  Hamiltons 
ever  achieved?  I  have  never  heard  of  any.  I  believe  their 
grandeur  consisted  wholly  in  their  birth,  in  spending  lives 
of  idleness,  and  wasting  their  fortunes — which,  I  believe, 
drove  my  grandfather  to  this  country  a  poor  man — and 
in  passing  away  from  the  world  without  recording  one  of 
their  names  among  those  who  wrought  heroic  deeds  or 
benefited  the  human  family.  Is  it  not  so,  aunty  ?" 

Aunt  Matilda  was  silent  for  a  moment,  but,  with  a  mor 
tified  expression,  said,  at  last — 

"  You  must  allow  that  there  is  something  in  noble  birth, 
Madeline." 

"  Not  apart  from  goodnesi?,  aunty ;  for  I  have  set  up  my 
husband  against  all  such  pretensions." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  be  telling  everybody  about  Roland's 
birth,  anyhow." 

"  1  certainly  shall  take  no  pains  to  conceal  it,  Aunt  Ma 
tilda  ;  I  am  too  proud  of  Roland  Bruce  himself." 

"  And  so  am  I,  Madeline ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  tell 
everybody  about  his  early  days." 

"Conquered  at  last!"  said  Madeline,  laughing  heartily, 
as  Aunt  Matilda  left  the  room. 

"  She  cannot  let  go  her  prejudices,  Madeline ;  but  she  is 
a  very  kind-hearted  aunt  to  both  of  us." 

In  the  early  spring,  Annot  returned  to  Scotland  in  com 
pany  with  the  Norrises ;  she  was  sorely  missed  at  Wood- 
cliff,  but  warmly  welcomed  by  Uncle  Malcolm  and  Mrs. 
Lindsay,  who  could  not  but  realize  that  she  was  greatly 
improved  by  her  sojourn  with  Madeline.  It  was  a  sore 
trial  to  the  good  man  to  resign  his  beloved  niece  to  any 
one,  especially  to  one  living  in  a  foreign  land ;  but,  true  to 
his  noble  character,  seeking  the  happiness  of  those  he  loved, 
he  said — 


FELLOW-HEIRS    OF    THE    GRACE    OF    LIFE.  44? 

"  Take  her  Edmund,  she  is  yours ;  but  ye  maun  leave 
her  with  us  a  year  ere  ye  claim  her  hand,  and  visit  us  as 
often  as  ye  can." 

"  I  know  the  sacrifice,  dear  Mr.  Graham,  but  you  need 
not  fear  to  trust  your  darling  to  me  ;  we  are  all  in  all  to 
each  other,  and,  I  trust,  humbly  desire  to  live  for  a  better 
world." 

"  I  canna  separate  young  hearts,  Edmund ;  I  know  the 
pang,  and  can  ne'er  inflict  it  on  another." 

A  pleasant  visit  of  a  few  months,  daily  increased  Uncle 
Malcolm's  respect  for  Edmund  Norris,  and  he  felt  before  he 
left  Graham  Hall,  that  in  him  he  had  found  another  dear 
son. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  always  lead  a  city  life,  dear  sir; 
our  tastes  are  for  the  country,  and  as  soon  as  it  can  be  pos 
sible,  that  shall  be  our  permanent  home." 

"Would  that  it  could  be  in  Scotland,  Edmund;  I  should 
be  so  happy  to  have  ye  with  me." 

"  That  is  a  subject  for  future  thought,  dear  sir ;  my  mother's 
wishes  must  be  consulted." 

The  young  pair  bade  farewell  with  the  sweet  hope  of 
meeting  again ;  but  0,  how  long!  for  one  whole  year!  and 
what  might  not  happen  ?  How  many  hearts  have  asked 
the  same  sad  question ' 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

REUNION. 

THE  church  is  finished — old  Mr.  Bruce  is  delighted,  for 
he  fancies  that  he  has  had  much  to  do  with  its  completion. 

Stanley  is  settled  as  the  pastor,  and  ministers  with  great 
acceptance.  The  day  has  arrived  for  its  opening,  the  ring 
ing  of  the  bell  summons  the  worshippers  from  all  quarters; 
and  Madeline,  with  her  bright  and  happy  face,  has  taken 
charge  of  the  choir,  and  sweet  is  the  music  which  from 
grateful  hearts  rolls  through  the  solemn  edifice. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  Sabbath  evening,  the  family  of 
Woodcliff  are  gathered  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  How  many  do  you  number  among  your  communicants, 
Stanley  ?"  asked  Roland. 

"About  eighty,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  may  record  me  as  another,  Stanley,  for  as  the  head 
of  a  family,  there  must  be  no  division  in  that  important 
matter ;  and  I  can  be  very  happy  in  worshipping  with 
you,  my  .dear  friend,  in  your  own  solemn  and  holy  forms  of 
worship." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Roland,"  said  the  wife,  "this  is  so 
pleasant  to  have  you  with  me  as  a  fellow-communicant ; 
we  have  been  for  a  long  time  fellow-pilgrims,  but  this  out 
ward  union  is  peculiarly  gratifying." 

"You  must  make  some  allowances,  dear,  for  my  still  liking 
a  good  old-fashioned  doctrinal  sermon,  even  if  it  is  pretty 
long ;  and  therefore,  father  and  I  must  go  once  a  day  to  the 
(448) 


REUNION.  449 

church  of  our  ancestors,  for  that  is  all  that  I  have  to  remind 
me  of  good  old  Scotland." 

"  Certainly,  dear  Roland,  and  I  shall  go  with  you  ;  good 
Mr.  Stewart  and  I  have  always  been  the  very  best  of 
friends ;  he  is  on  excellent  terms  with  our  own  pastor,  for 
he  is  one  of  God's  dear  people,  and  I  love  him  as  such." 

Madeline  is  very  happy,  for  she  is  busy  in  fitting  up  the 
pretty  parsonage  of  Glendale ;  as  soon  as  the  finishing 
touch  shall  be  given,  Helen  will  take  her  place  there,  as 
the  pastor's  gentle  wife. 

Early  in  the  autumn,  the  preparations  were  completed, 
and  Stanley  has  brought  his  bride  to  the  pleasant  home. 

"  What  a  beautiful  study  !"  said  Helen,  as  she  looked 
around  at  the  neat  furniture  ;  "  such  a  complete  table  for  a 
minister  !  such  a  pretty  book-case !  and  so  well  filled  1 
such  a  comfortable  lounge !  and  cosy  rocking-chair !  I  really 
think,  husband,  that  I  shall  often  bring  my  work  here,  when 
you  are  not  too  much  occupied." 

"  You  will  be  welcome  any  day  after  twelve  o'clock, 
Helen ;  for  I  must  be  alone  until  then.  I  have  a  system 
to  live  by.  In  the  afternoon  we  shall  ride  out  to  visit  my 
people,  for  I  must  make  you  acquainted  with  the  humblest." 

"What  a  happy  work  is  ours,  dear  husband!  laboring 
together  for  that  blessed  kingdom  which  is  to  prevail  upon 
the  earth,  and  at  last  to  sit  down  at  the  marriage-supper  of 
the  Lamb." 

At  the  appointed  time,  Edmund  brought  home  his  young 
Scottish  bride,  and  settled  in  New  York  for  the  winter, 
spending  their  summers  near  Woodcliff;  Annot  retaining 
her  connection  with  the  church  of  her  fathers,  but  often 
worshipping  at  Calvary,  with  the  friends  that  she  loved  so 
well. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  .          * 

Ten  years  have  passed — their  rolling  cycles  bringing  the 
changing  seasons  —  spring,  with  its  fresh  yonng  buds  of 
life,  summer  with  its  ripening  fruits,  autumn  with  its  fading 
38* 


450  WOODCLIFF. 

glories  ready  to  drop  into  the  lap  of  winter;  nursed  tenderly 
through  the  night  of  nature,  until  the  children  of  another 
spring  proclaim  their  joyous  advent,  by  the  swelling 
buds,  the  winged  songsters,  the  smiling  skies,  the  music 
of  babbling  brooks,  and  balmy  breath  of  the  resurrection 
season. 

This,  without  the  walls  of  Woodcliff — w'ithin  also,  there 
is  growth,  harmony  with  the  visible  works  of  the  Divine 
renovator.  The  little  seed  planted  so  long  ago  by  feeble 
boyish  hands  has  germinated  ;  often  seeming  almost  lifeless  ; 
hidden  from  the  light  and  the  sun,  but  not  from  the  great 
husbandman,  who  has  watched  its  mysterious  life.  First 
the  little  sprout,  then  the  delicate  leaflets  so  tentler  and 
faintly  green,  then  the  stronger  plant.  Thus  hath  it  been 
with  the  spiritual  world  at  WoodclifF — the  Divine  workman 
invisible,  the  work  so  silent,  yet  so  powerful ! 

"  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  tbou  hearest 
the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh, 
and  whither  it  goeth  :  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the 
Spirit." 

The  changing  culture  appointed  each  day,  each  hour, 
each  minute,  on  to  the  very  latest  breath  of  mortal  life,  by 
the  great  husbandman  of  immortal  fruits. 

Under  the  eye  of  the  glorious  three,  the  silent,  wondrous 
work  is  going  on.  The  Father,  planning  the  scheme  of 
man's  redemption  ;  the  Son,  executing  it  by  sacrifice  of  him 
self;  the  Spirit,  with  his  powerful  breath  vivifying  the 
sleeping  germs. 

And  then  the  glorious  harvest,  when  the  reapers  come 
to  gather  in  the  sheaves  1  0,  blessed  day  of  jubilee,  when 
Jesus  comes !  There  has  been  but  little  of  the  discipline 
of  sorrow  thus  far  in  the  life  of  Madeline.  That  refining 
process  was  deemed  best  for  Roland  in  his  early  days  — • 
now,  a  long  season  of  sunshine  hath  succeeded,  and  the 
deeper  incisions  of  grafting  and  pruning  are  reserved  for 
future  years. 


REUNION.  451 

Blessed  are  they  who  wait  in  patience  on  the  hand  of 
the  wise  and  loving  cultivator ! 

Ten  years  have  passed  over  husband  and  wife,  each  year 
deepening  and  purifying  their  love. 

Each  anniversary  of  her  wedding  day,  Madeline  has 
learned  to  look  under  her  pillow  for  some  sweet  token  of  affec 
tion.  A  faithful  likeness  of  himself,  finely  set,  a  handsome 
pin  with  his  mother  and  sister's  hair,  a  rich  diamond  ring, 
with  united  initials  engraved  within  the  circlet,  and  various 
other  dear  mementoes,  have  marked  each  returning  wedding 
day. 

Three  lovely  children  are  added  to  the  domestic  circle  j 
Malcolm  Graham,  a  boy  of  seven,  Mary  Gordon,  a  child 
of  five,  and  Lilian,  a  sweet  prattler  of  three  years,  fill  the 
halls  of  Woodcliff  with  their  merry  voices.  One  lovely 
boy,  their  little  Lewis,  sleeps  in  the  quiet  cemetery,  and  the 
infant  spirit  has  formed  another  tie  to  beckon  the  parents 
heavenward. 

Another  anniversary  morning  has  arrived,  and  the  pic 
tures  of  her  household  darlings  greet  Madeline  on  her  first 
awaking. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  treasure  !"  said  the  happy  wife,  "  how 
perfect  is  the  likeness !  you  could  have  given  me  nothing 
that  can  please  me  better!  and  now,  dear,  here  is  my  own 
little  keep-sake  for  this  happy  day,"  and  Madeline  produced 
a  beautiful  miniature  of  herself,  in  the  bloom  of  her  ripe 
womanhood. 

"Ten  years,  Madeline,  have  passed,  and  I  can  say  truly 
'  how  much  the  wife  is  dearer  than  the  bride,'  "  and  Roland 
fondly  kissed  the  sweet  lips,  and  calm,  pure  forehead,  of 
the  one  he  loved  so  well. 

Stephen  Bruce  grows  cheerful  in  the  society  of  his  grand 
children,  and  seems  to  be  renewing  his  youth  among  these 
dear  prattlers  ;  his  piety  is  becoming  more  and  more  simple- 
hearted,  more  like  that  of  a  little  child. 

Roland  is  daily  growing  more  influential ;  and  notwith- 


452  WOODCLIFF. 

standing  his  high  principles  of  integrity,  after  a  few  years, 
there  is  found  virtue  enough  to  send  him  to  the  Senate  of 
the"  United  States,  and  Aunt  Matilda  is  becoming  quite 
reconciled  that  Madeline  should  be  the  wife  of  a  Senator. 

At  Washington  in  winter,  Madeline  is  too  truly  a  mother 
to  leave  her  children  at  Woodcliff,  and  too  faithful,  as  a  wife, 
to  part  from  her  husband ;  consequently,  the  house  is  left 
under  the  care  of  a  housekeeper,  and  the  family-circle  take 
up  their  abode  at  the  capital. 

Madeline's  attractions  draw  around  her  a  number  of  ad 
mirers,  who  are  anxious  to  bring  her  into  their  circle  as  a 
new  star ;  but  devoted  to  her  calling  as  wife  and  mother, 
she  simply  returns  the  calls  of  the  leaders  of  fashion,  and 
resolutely  avoids  the  frivolity  of  the  giddy  world.  Aunt 
Matilda  is  sadly  chagrined,  for  she  had  anticipated  Ma 
deline's  triumphs  with  great  exultation. 

"  I  cannot  consent,  dear  aunt,  to  such  a  life,"  replied  the 
wife  to  her  remonstrances ;  "  if  I  were  running  this  round 
of  folly,  what  would  become  of  my  household  darlings  ?'' 
and  steadily,  she  pursued  the  quiet  tenor  of  her  beautiful 
life.  Occasionally,  she  accepted  invitations  to  dinner 
parties,  always  being  there  the  centre  of  attraction. 

One  pleasure  she  felt  that  she  must  indulge  in,  for  when 
ever  she  knew  that  her  husband  was  to  speak  in  Congress, 
Madeline  was  always  one  of  the  most  attentive  listeners 
to  his  eloquence,  ever  on  the  side  of  the  right,  the  true 
the  good. 

"  What  were  you  musing  about  this  morning,  Madeline?" 
said  her  husband ;  "  I  saw  you  in  the  gallery  surrounded  by 
so  many  ladies,  all  busily  engaged  in  conversation,  and  you 
in  such  a  deep  brown  study.'' 

She  smiled  as  he  replied,  "  I  was  thinking,  Roland,  about 
my  childish  days ;  and  was  seated  in  memory  by  the  lake 
at  Woocliff,  when  tired  of  playing  with  my  gold-fish,  I 
used  to  amuse  myself  by  throwing  in  pebbles,  and  watch 
ing  the  little  circles,  as  they  widened  in  their  course,  until 


REUNION.  453 

I  could  trace  them  no  longer.  I  thought,  Roland,  of  the 
boy  on  the  shore  at  Woodcliff ;  I  saw  you  just  as  you  stood 
that  day  when  first  I  met  you ;  I  traced  all  your  course, 
comparing  it  to  the  little  pebble  thrown  carelessly  into  the 
lake,  drawing  one  circle  of  influence  round  the  spoiled 
child  at  Woodcliff,  then  beyond,  at  college,  another  round 
Norris  and  Stanley,  then  around  Helen  Thornly,  another 
around  my  dear  father  through  your  own  sister  Effie, 
then  a  broader,  wider  circle,  embracing  the  poor,  ne 
glected  news-boys  of  New  York,  and  encircling  Woodcliff; 
and  now  a  broader  still  around  the  country  that  you  serve, 
until  I  am  lost  in  wonder,  and  can  trace  it  no  farther ;  truly 
human  influence  is  a  wonderful  agent,  and  we  ought  both 
to  exclaim  '  What  hath  God  wrought!'  " 

"  How  little  did  we  know,  dear  wife,  of  the  power  of  my 
mother's  blessed  words,  when  she  bade  me  '  Look  aloft ;'  I 
listened  to  them,  then,  as  simply  comforting ;  I  have  learned 
since  how  they  have  guided  my  path  as  a  beacon  light,  to 
beckon  me  onward." 

A  servant  entered,  interrupting  the  conversation. 

"  Mr.  Bruce,  a  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,"  and  Roland 
entering  the  parlor,  is  greeted  by  the  fast  friend  of  his 
college  days,  Dr.  Kingsley. 

"  How  are  you,  my  son  ?"  said  the  good  man,  as  he 
heartily  shook  Roland's  hand. 

"  I  came  to  congratulate  you  on  your  success  to-day,  for 
I  was  in  the  Senate  Chamber  and  heard  your  speech ;  I 
cannot  tell  how  my  old  heart  swelled  with  pride  as  I 
listened,  and  remembered  you,  Roland,  as  one  of  my  sons. 
I  always  knew  that  you  would  leave  your  mark  upon  the 
world,  and  do  honor  to  your  Alma  Mater." 

"  I  can  never  cease  to  thank  you,  Dr.  Kingsley ;  for  had 
you  turned  me  away,  I  had  no  other  resource." 

"And  then,  Roland,  the  world  would  have  lost  a  noble 
laborer  in  the  cause  of  all  that  is  good  and  true." 

"  You  will  not  reject   other   poor   aspirants,   my  good 


454  WOODCLIFF. 

friend,  for  there  are  many  struggling  spirits  who  need  just 
such  a  hand  as  yours  to  guide,  and  such  a  heart  to  sympa 
thize." 

Introducing  his  old  friend  to  Madeline,  an  hour's  pleasant 
intercourse  closed  the  interview,  with  a  cordial  invitation 
to  the  good  man  to  visit  them  at  WoodcliflF. 

"  Congress  will  adjourn  to-morrow  night,"  said  Roland. 

"  Then  for  dear  Woodcliff,"  answered  Madeline ;  "  are 
you  not  glad,  father?"  turning  to  old  Mr.  Bruce. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  there  is  sae  much  that  needs  my  care,  an' 
I  am  tired  o'  this  noisy,  bustling  place ;  but  I  am  glad  that 
I  came;  for  I  canna  be  separated  frae  the  bonnie  darlings." 

Immediately  on  the  close  of  the  session,  they  turned 
tEeir  faces  homeward,  and  a  joyful  party  met  once  more 
around  the  domestic  fireside.  The  winter  curtains  were 
yet  up,  for  it  was  cold  and  cheerless  out  of  doors,  and  a 
warm  fire  and  cheerful  supper  greeted  them,  with  Stanley 
and  his  wife  ready  to  welcome  them  home  again.  The 
next  morning,  Roland  came  in  from  the  library  with  the 
delightful  news,  that  Uncle  Malcolm  and  Aunt  Lindsay 
were  coming  to  pay  a  visit  to  America. 

"  The  best  room  shall  be  prepared  for  dear  Uncle  Mal 
colm,"  said  Madeline,  and  she  busied  herself  in  making 
ready  for  the  good  old  friend. 

"  They  will  be  here  in  three  weeks,  at  the  farthest,"  said 
Roland,  "  and  we  must  have  a  nice  lounge,  and  rocking- 
chair  put  in  his  room,  plenty  of  books,  and  a  secretary ;  for 
Uncle  Malcolm  could  not  be  happy  without  his  usual  pur 
suits." 

Annot  was  sent  for,  with  her  husband,  and  two  sweet 
children,  little  Roland  and  Anna,  the  one  five,  the  other 
three  years  old. 

"I  can  scarcely  wait,"  said  the  anxious 'daughter,  "for  it 
is  seven  years  since  I  hae  seen  my  mother." 

One  evening  Roland  arrived  from  New  York  with  the 
news  that  the  steamer  was  below. 


REUNION.  455 

"  They  will  be  here  to-morrow  or  next  day,"  was  the 
answer  to  Annot's  anxious  questions. 

Merry  as  a  kitten,  she  was  never  tired  of  telling  her 
little  ones  that  Grandma  and  Uncle  Malcolm  were  coming. 

Old  Mr.  Bruce  and  his  grandchildren  were  playing  on 
the  front  lawn  —  little  Malcolm  driving  his  sister  Lilian  in 
a  small  carriage  ;  and  grandfather  amusing  himself  by  keep 
ing  close  to  their  side,  to  keep  them  from  danger. 

Suddenly,  Mary  cried  out, 

"  There  comes  the  carriage !"  and  the  little  girls  ran 
rapidly  into  the  house  with  the  news;  while  Malcolm,  hold 
ing  his  grandfather's  hand,  stood  in  anxious  expectation 
of  the  arrival.  .  «. 

The  carriage  stops  —  Annot  is  folded  in  the  arms  of  her 
dear  mother,  and  Uncle  Malcolm  grasps  warmly  the  ex 
tended  hands  of  Roland  and  Madeline. 

* 

"  Welcome  a  thousand  times  to  Woodcliff,  dear  uncle  !" 
exclaims  Roland ;  and  Stephen.  Bruce  also  advances  with  a 
timid  step,  but  placid  smile,  to  greet  the  new  comers. 

"  What  little  boy  is  this  ?"  asks  the  good  man,  as  he  lays 
his  hand  on  the  head  of  Roland's  son,  standing  by  anxious 
to  be  noticed  by  the  stranger. 

"  This  is  Malcolm  Graham,"  answered  the  happy  father 

Mr.  Graham  changed  countenance,  and  whispered, 

"  How  came  this,  Roland  ?  I  aye  thought  it  strange  that 
ye  did  na  name  him  Stephen." 

"  My  father  named  the  boy  himself." 

Uncle  Malcolm  smiled  gratefully  at  this  token  of  entire 
forgetfulness  of  the  painful  past,  and  lifting  the  dear  child 
in  his  arms,  kissed  him  fondly,  as  he  laid  the  hand  of  bless 
ing  on  his  dark  brown  hair. 

While  Madeline  is  presenting  her  other  darlings,  Annot's 
eyes  are  moistened  with  happy  tears,  as  she  leads  little 
Roland  and  Anna  up  to  their  grandma  and  uncle,  who 
pronounce  them  "  darling  pets,"  and  the  proud  young 
mother  is  full  of  innocent  delight. 


456  WOODCLIFP. 

Changes  have  taken  place  in  all  the  party  —  ten  years 
have  added  many  silver  hairs  to  Malcolm  Graham's  noble 
head,  but  to  him  they  are  indeed  a  crown  of  glory. 

Mrs.  Lindsay  is  stouter  and  more  matronly  —  Madeline 
has  exchanged  the  bewitching  charms  of  young  girlhood 
for  the  ripe  beauty  of  a  queenly  woman,  retaining  still  the 
brightness  and  vivacity  of  early  youth,  and  the  arch  ex 
pression  of  her  lovely  face. 

Roland  is  a  noble  man  of  thirty-seven,  with  a  fine,  com 
manding  figure,  the  same  dark  eagle  eye,  and  sweet  expres 
sive  smile  of  benevolence. 

Annot  is  no  more  the  lovely  child,  with  her  wealth  of 
golden  ringlets  falling  r«und  her  face  and  slioulders ;  but 
the  blooming  wife  in  the  first  flush  of  sweet  young  woman 
hood. 

Seated  between  the  two,  Uncle  Malcolm  takes  the.hand 
of  each,  saying,  N 

"  Here  are  baith  my  daughters !  well,  ye  are  making 
Uncle  Malcolm  au  auld  mon,  wi'  yer  bairns  skipping 
around  me;  but  I  hope  that  my  heart  will  ne'er  grow  old." 

"  You  will  never  grow  old  in  feeling,  uncle,"  said  Mad 
eline  ;  "  and  we  are  so  hajapy  to  have  you  with  us ;  but 
you  must  be  tired ;  come,  Annot,  let  us  show  Uncle  bis 
room." 

Each  taking  an  arm,  they  led  him  to  his  pleasant  cham 
ber;  Annot  retiring  with  her  mother,  and  Madeline  busy 
ing  herself  about  Uncle  Malcolm. 

"  Here  is  a  warm  winter  wrapper,  and  a  pair  of  chamber 
slippers;  I  knew  that  you  would  like  them,  uncle." 

The  old  gentleman  sat  down  in  his  comfortable  chair; 
and,  looking  around  on  all  the  arrangements  of  his  room, 
with  the  bright  fire  lighting  up  the  whole,  said, 

"  Well,  Madeline !  this  is  comfort !  ye  will  spoil  the  auld 
mon  among  ye." 

"  No  danger,  dear  uncle,"  as  she  kissed  the  calm  fore- 


REUNION.  457 

head ;  "  we  can  never  do  too  much  for  you,  for  are  you  not 
my  husband's  dearest,  warmest  friend?" 

Sweet  was  the  incense  of  gratitude  and  praise  that  as 
cended  from  the  family  altar  that  night,  as  Uncle  Malcolm 
led  the  devotions,  and  Madeline  conducted  the  singing  of 
the  hymn. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Uncle  Malcolm  called 
Roland  aside,  and  said, 

"  Tak'  me  to  the  spot  most  sacred  in  America ;"  and, 
alone,  they  proceeded,  with  solemn  step,  to  the  cemetery. 

Standing  at  the  foot  of  his  mother's  grave,  the  strong 
man  stood  for  some  minutes  in  silence,  reading  the  inscrip 
tion  on  the  humble  tomb-stone ;  then  Uncle  Malcolm,  over 
powered  by  the  floods  of  sad  and  touching  memories,  lifted 
up  his  voice,  and  wept  aloud.  Roland  stood  with  his  arm 
around  the  old  man,  and  whispered, 

"  We  must  not  mourn  for  her,  dear  uncle,  a  blessed  spirit 
around  the  throne." 

"  I  dinna,  Roland ;  but  I  could  na  but  feel  how  happy  I 
should  hae  made  her;  how  I  wad  hae  sheltered  her  frae 
the  rough  world ;  for  while  I  was  enjoying  a'  that  wealth 
could  gie,  my  puir  Mary  was  suffering  years  o'  penury  an' 
toil." 

"  It  is  past,  dear  uncle  ;  through  all  her  trials  she  enjoyed 
the  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding;  and 
there  is  the  blessed  hope  of  reunion  ;  do  you  not  think  that 
we  shall  know  each  other  in  the  better  land  ?" 

"1  do,  my  son,  confidently  hope  to  meet  that  blessed 
spirit,  purified  an'  full  o'  holy  love,  where  there  shall  be  nae 
mair  parting ;  while  I  live,  Roland,  I  shall  luve  her  memo 
ry,"  (and  he  took  out  of  his  pocket-book  once  more  the  lock 
of  golden  hair,)  "that  must  be  buried  wi'  me,  Roland." 

None  asked  where  Uncle  Malcolm  had  been,  for  the  seri 
ous  and  tender  expression  that  dwelt  upon  his  face,  and 
softened  the  tones  of  his  voice  throughout  the  day,  spoke 
volumes. 
39 


458  WOODCLIPF. 

Interested  in  all  the  benevolent  schemes  around  Wood- 
cliff,  Malcolm  rode  out  with  Roland ;  and,  with  a  full  heart, 
listened  to  the  account  of  all  their  plans  for  good.  On 
Sunday  he  attended  the  church  at  Glendale  ;  and  as  he  lis 
tened  to  the  Christian  statesman,  seated  so  humbly  before 
his  large  class  of  young  men,  he  could  not  but  bless  God 
for  the  grace  which  had  so  faithfully  directed  the  footsteps 
of  this  good  steward  of  his  Master's  gifts. 

As  he  watched  the  earnest  look,  the  respectful  reverence, 
the  deep  interest  of  the  youth  who  surrounded  Roland,  he 
rejoiced  in  the  inward  conviction  that  none  of  this  good  seed 
would  fall  to  the  ground  unblessed ;  and  many  a  tale  of 
sacred  influence  and  private  benevolence  reached  the  ears 
of  Uncle  Malcolm  in  his  private  visits  among  the  people 
of  Woodcliff,  for  Roland  was  not  one  to  blazon  his  own  good 
deeds. 

"  We  hae  had  a  blessed  day !"  said  the  good  man,  at  the 
close  of  a  Sabbath-day  at  Woodcliff;  "what  a  holy  privi 
lege  we  hae  enjoyed  in  worshipping  a  common  Saviour !" 
for  they  had  attended  on  the  services  of  each  church,  and 
had  heard  faithful  discourses  from  both  ministers. 

"  Stanley  seems  a  maist  devoted  mon,"  said  Uncle  Mal 
colm,  "  how  meikle  o'  Christ  there  is  in  his  sermons !" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  secret  of  his  success ;  while  he  does 
not  neglect  nor  undervalue  the  scaffolding  of  the  Christian 
church,  the  whole  power  of  his  ministry  is  to  lead  sinners 
to  build  their  hopes  upon  the  corner-stone,  Christ  Jesus  our 
Lord." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Roland,  when  the  heart  is  filled  with 
luve  to  the  Master,  an'  a  sense  o'  the  danger  o'  immortal 
souls,  men  canna  spend  their  time  in  preaching  sae  meikle 
on  tbese  "minor  things.  I  hae  felt,  syne  I  hae  been  amang 
ye,  perfect  communion  o'  spirit,  for  I  hae  heard  naught  but 
Jesus,  an'  him  crucified." 

"  I  have  often  thought,  dear  uncle,  how  sweet  is  this 
communion  of  saints!  How  blessed  is  the  feeling  that 


REUNION.  459 

erery  Sunday  so  many  pilgrims  are  worshipping  the  dear 
Redeemer  in  the  great  cathedrals  of  vast  cities,  and  the 
lowly  temples  of  the  village  lanes  of  good  old  England ;  the 
solemn  worship  of  its  ancient  church  mingles  with  that  of 
its  American  child,  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
this  vast  country ;  while  the  prayers  and  hymns  of  Chris 
tians  mingle  daily  from  the  hills  of  Scotland,  and  the  green 
island  of  the  shamrock.  All  over  the  world  the  songs  of 
pilgrims,  on  their  heavenward  march,  roll  up  to  Heaven ; 
and,  dear  uncle,  when  you  are  in  Scotland,  we  can  still 
commune  in  spirit ;  you,  in  your  fathers'  venerable  church, 
and  we  in  the  one  we  love." 

"  'Tis  a  vera  holy  bond,  Roland,  an'  wae  be  to  the  Chris 
tian  who  can  allow  bigotry  or  intolerance  to  chill  sic  holy 
worship." 

"  Let  us  never  forget,  dear  uncle,  the  tie  of  Christian 
brotherhood  as  the  dearest  and  purest  of  all  earthly 
bonds." 

"  I  could  na  bear  to  think  o'  parting,  my  son,  if  I  did  na 
realize  this  sacred  bond  o'  union." 

Many  such  hours  of  hallowed  intercourse  were  spent  be 
tween  these  two  noble  spirits,  so  elevated .  above  the  com 
mon  masses  of  humanity. 

Little  Malcolm  is  a  child  of  promise ;  and  the  parents  are 
teaching  diligently  the  first  great  lesson  of  obedience  to 
their  children ;  not  a  day  passes  without  its  lessons :  "  Line 
upon  line,  precept  upon  precept,"  looking  upward  for  God's 
blessing,  both  parents  train  their  dear  children  in  paths  of 
obedience,  truth  and  love.  Little  Mary  is  a  gentle,  loving 
child ;  but  Lilian  is  a  repetition  of  Madeline,  happily  under 
the  controlling  influence  of  wise  and  loving  guidance. 
Aunt  Clara  is  daily  ripening  for  the  skies. 

Lavinia,  the  same  vain,  frivolous  devotee  of  fashion,  no 
longer  young,  still  unmarried,  is  rapidly  becoming  that 
most  unhappy  of  all  miserable  beings,  a  censorious  and 
disappointed  old  maid. 


460  WOODCLIFF. 

The  declining  years  of  Stephen  Bruce  are  calm  and  tran 
quil  ;  surrounded  by  a  family  who  encircle  him  with  tender, 
affectionate  reverence,  his  latter  days  are  bis  best ;  and  he 
is  passing  on  to  "  the  rest  that  remaineth,"  full  of  calm  un 
shaken  trust  in  his  Saviour.  Stanley  has  gathered  round 
him  a  devoted  flock;  and  Helen  is  the  happy  wife  of  a  ten 
der  husband,  the  mother  of  a  lovely  family,  the  helper  of 
her  husband's  labors ;  sharing  in  his  cares  and  sorrows,  as 
well  as  in  his  joys. 

Glendale  is  a  blessed  sanctuary,  and  Calvary  Church  the 
centre  of  a  holy  influence  in  the  midst  of  the  homes  of 
Woodcliff. 

Harry  and  Charles  have  not  learned  wisdom  yet,  for 
their  youth  was  one  of  folly,  and  they  are  reaping  the  fruits, 
in  advancing  years,  of  uselessness  and  discontent ;  affections 
withered,  intellects  wasting,  time  flying,  and  their  Lord 
coming  for  his  reckoning  —  such  is  the  life  of  thousands  — 
who  can  bear  to  read  their  everlasting  destiny  ?  "  Cast  ye 
the  unprofitable  servant  into  outer  darkness." 

Uncle  Malcolm's  visit  is  drawing  to  an  end,  and  he  seeks 
an  occasion  of  private  conference  with  Edmund. 

"  My  son,  I  feel  as  if  I  canna  gae  hame  wi'out  ye  and 
Annot ;  I  am  growing  auld,  Edmund,  an'  the  cares  o'  life 
begin  to  weigh  heavily  upon  me  ;  why  na  move  yer  family 
to  Scotland  ?" 

"It  would  be  just  the  life  that  I  should  love,  Uncle 
Malcolm ;  for  years  I  have  longed  for  the  country.  I  am 
not  calculated  for  commercial  pursuits,  and  I  know  that 
Annot  would  only  be  too  happy  to  be  once  more  in  her 
dear  old  home;  there  is  but  one  difficulty  —  my  mother 
would  so  mourn  over  the  separation." 

"  I  hae  enow  to  occupy  us  baith,  Edmund ;  an'  there  are 
sae  mony  openings  for  usefu'ness,  I  am  sure  that  we  should 
be  happy  together.  Then  I  am  anxious  that  Annot's 
bairns  should  be  trained  in  Scotland,  for  their  inheritance 
will  be  there." 


REUNION.  461 

Edmund  spoke  to  Annot  on  the  subject. 

"  Can  it  be,  dear  Edmund?  I  hae  sae  langed  for  a  re 
turn  to  my  ain  land,  an'  I  agree  perfectly  wi'  Uncle  Malcolm 
that  Scotland  is  the  hame  for  our  bairns." 

Mrs.  Lindsay  most  earnestly  added  her  influence,  and 
Mrs.  Norris,  convinced  that  it  was  for  Edmund's  worldly 
prosperity,  finally  consented.  American  friends  were  pained 
to  miss  the  dear  faces  of  Annot's  family  from  among  their 
circle,  but  both  Roland  and  Madeline  saw  that  it  was  right. 

Uncle  Malcolm  had  learned  to  love  his  little  namesake, 
and,  on  the  evening  before  their  departure,  took  the  child 
into  his  own  room,  and,  after  warm,  affectionate  counsels, 
prayed  with  the  dear  boy  for  God's  blessing  on  his  child 
hood  and  his  youth.  Going  to  his  secretary,  he  brought 
out  a  handsome  rosewood  writing-desk,  completely  fur 
nished. 

"  This,  my  boy,  is  frae  Uncle  Malcolm ;  as  soon  as  ye 
are  auld  enow,  I  hope  that  ye  will  mak  guid  use  o'  it. 
Ye  will  find  i'  the  stable,  too,  a  dear  little  pony  that  I  hae 
bought  for  my  namesake  to  ride ;  he  is  quite  safe,  an'  papa 
will  teach  ye  how  to  ride ;  ye  maun  ca'  him  Selim,  after 
mamma's  pony." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  good  Uncle  Malcolm ;  I'll  try  to  be  a 
good  boy,  and  then  you  won't  be  sorry  for  these  gifts,"  and 
the  boy  kissed  the  good  old  man  again  and  again. 

Going  down  stairs,  he  called  the  little  girls  to  his  side. 

"  Noo,  Mary,  what  do  ye  think  that  Uncle  Malcolm  has 
for  his  bonnie  lassie  ?" 

"I  know  just  what  I  want,  uncle.'' 

"What  is  it,  my  bairn?  dinna  be  afraid  to  tell." 

"  I  want  a  pretty  baby-house,  uncle,  for  Lilian  and  me." 

Uncle  Malcolm  smiled  pleasantly,  and,  taking  the  hands 
of  the  little  girls,  led  them  into  the  library,  and  there  was 
the  sweetest  baby-house,  entirely  furnished  with  such  a 
handsome  outfit,  and,  seated  on  chairs  in  another  part  of 
the  room,  two  beautiful  dolls  from  Aunt  Lindsay.  They 
39* 


462  WOODCLIFF. 

were  quite  beside  themselves ;  Mary  in  quiet  wonder,  and 
Lilian  skipping  about  the  room  in  ecstasy. 

"  Noo,  mamma,  I  hae  only  ane  request  to  mak,  an'  that 
is,  should  these  little  lassies  quarrel  aboot  these  gifts, 
please  deprive  them  o'  their  use  for  ane  whole  month ;  but 
I  hope  that  they  will  na  be  sae  naughty." 

Both  the  children  thanked  good  Uncle  Malcolm,  and, 
kissing  each  other,  made  faithful  promises  not  to  dispute 
about  the  pretty  gifts.  The  day  of  parting  had  arrived ; 
always  painful,  but  doubly  so  now,  as  it  removed  a  dear 
family  from  the  midst  of  this  circle  of  friends,  with  but 
little  prospect  of  meeting  again  on  this  side  of  the  better 
land. 

"  God  bless  ye !  my  ain  dear  children,"  said  Uncle  Mal 
colm,  as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  heads  of  Roland  and 
Madeline ;  "  let  us  aye  remember  the  precious  words  o'  our 
departed  saint,  '  Looking  aloft,'  "  and  tears  trembled  in  the 
eyes  of  the  good  man  as  he  tenderly  repeated  the  blessed 
words. 

The  carriage  drove  off  with  a  tearful  company,  and 
Roland,  kissing  the  lips  and  encircling  the  wife  with  his 
sustaining  arm,  led  her  in  to  the  library. 

"  This  is  life,  dear  Madeline ;  there  must  be  partings 
here.  Reunion,  lasting  and  eternal,  must  be  beyond  this 
mortal  shore." 

Life  still  rolls  .on  at  Woodcliff.  Roland  and  Madeline 
have  not  yet  reached  the  perfection  of  existence ;  but,  as 
far  as  mortals  can,  theirs  is  truly  living — living  that  life  on 
earth  which  shall  be  perfected  hereafter  in  the  kingdom 
that  is  coming. 

'Tis  true  that  these  are  the  creations  of  fiction  —  ideal 
man  and  woman  —  but  let  none  say  that  such  can  never 
dwell  in  mortal  flesh.  Christ  came  to  make  such.  There 
is  not  one  trait  exhibited  here,  but  is  commanded  in  the 
Gospel,  and  from  which  can  be  drawn  grace  to  form  just 
such  characters  upon  the  earth.  Such  monuments  of 


REUNION.  463 

grace  have  walked  the  earth  like  angels,  and  such  there 
will  be  again  ;  for  there  is  a  time  coming,  when  the  world 
will  be  filled  with  such  lively  stones,  in  the  glorious  temple 
that  shall  hereafter  be  erected  on  the  earth.  Why  should 
not  she  who  writes,  and  they  who  read,  seek  to  be  one  of 
these  highly-polished  living  stones  ? 

'Tis  true  that  to  mortal  vision,  this  blessed  kingdom 
does  not  seem  very  near;  for  throughout  the  world  are 
sounds  of  war,  and  tumult,  and  confusion ;  man  slaying  his 
brother  man  on  many  fields  of  combat,  and  the  sweet  dove 
of  peace  and  love  far,  far  away ;  but  there  are  yet  some 
left  on  earth  in  whose  bosoms  dwell,  by  bright  anticipa 
tions,  the  spirit  of  the  millennium  ;  above  this  strife  and 
tumult,  dwelling  in  a  world  of  their  own,  with  folded  hands, 
uplifted  eyes,  and  hearts  whose  pulsations  are  one  eternal 
prayer.  Precious  witnesses  for  the  kingdom  of  peace,  and 
love,  and  holiness,  yet  to  come !  To  come !  Blessed  be 
God !  to  come !  And  this  little  pilgrim  band  whom  we 
have  followed  so  long,  still  "  Looking  aloft,"  and  seeing 
Him  who  is  invisible,  may  confidently  look  for  that  ever 
lasting  glorious  kingdom. 

"  Looking  aloft !"  blessed  talisman  against  the  spirit  of 
worldliness,  selfishness,  and  strife  of  every  kind !  "  Look 
ing  aloft!"  It  inspired  Noah  when  sheltered  safely  in  the 
ark,  calm  and  happy  amidst  the  overwhelming  deluge  of 
wrath.  It  calmed  the  trusting  heart  of  holy  Daniel  in  the 
den  of  lions,  stilling  their  angry  growls,  and  closing  their 
bloodthirsty  jaws.  It  sustained  David  in  the  hour  of  his 
darkest  trials,  and,  centuries  ago,  inspired  those  sublime 
Psalms  of  holy  confidence  which  multitudes  still  sing  in 
their  pilgrimage  as  they  are  marching  home.  It  wakened 
the  songs  of  triumph  in  the  prison  of  Paul  and  Silas,  and 
cheered  the  great  apostle  beneath  the  uplifted  axe  of  the 
bloody  Nero. 

It  lit  up  smiles  of  joy  and  peace  upon  the  faces  of  that 
holy  band  of  martyrs  who  were  stoned,  sawn  asunder,  and 


464  WOODCLIFP. 

burned  at  the  fiery  stake,  when  even  woman's  earnest  eyo 
and  childhood's  tender  glance  were  turned  calmly  upward 
to  the  glorious  Saviour ;  and  from  the  stake  and  the  block 
the  martyr's  gaze  of  faith  pierced  the  heavens,  as,  "Looking 
aloft,"  they  saw  Him  who  is  invisible. 

Blessed  talisman!  sufficient  for  those  dark  and  stormy 
days,  it  is  enough  for  all  life's  woes,  and  cares,  and  sorrows. 
It  hath  sustained  Roland  Bruce  in  the  days  of  poverty, 
trial,  and  bereavement;  and  hath  brought  him  into  the 
quiet  waters  of  usefulness,  peace,  and  love,  with  "the 
promise  of  the  life  that  now  is,  and  of  that  which  is  to 
come"  all  fulfilled.  Hand  in  hand  with  the  chosen  partner 
of  his  joys  and  sorrows,  we  bid  them  both  farewell ;  with 
the  certainty  that  such  a  union  will  be  peaceful  and  blessed 
while  they  tread  life's  changing  scenes,  and,  in  the  world 
to  come,  will  be  crowned  by  blissful,  eternal  reunion,  so 
long  as  their  motto,  beaming  from  the  pole-star  of  hope, 
remains  "  LOOKING  ALOFT." 


THE    END- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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A     000  929  331     7 


